


A Life, Together

by Lykegenia



Series: Zutara [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blutara - Freeform, Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Katara being badass, Mutual Pining, Natural Disasters, Oneshot Series, Shirtless Zuko, Slow Burn, Snippets, Soulmates, Wedding Day, Zutara Week, old zutara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2018-08-08 18:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 27,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7767838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lykegenia/pseuds/Lykegenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of oneshots inspired by the prompts for Zutara Week, all fitting loosely into a single timeline where Zutara happened. Expect lots of fluff, lots of cute, and maybe just a touch of angst. Rating has gone up because there's also some violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2016: Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> So once again Zutara Week has rolled around! This year I've decided to so a series of oneshots based on the prompts for the week, starting off with a story about dragons - or, at least, one little dragon scared of the big wide world.

Winter in the Fire Nation came not with the familiar snow and wind-sharpened ice, but with intense tropical storms that hummed against the red-tiled roofs of the capital and hissed onto the surface of the turtle duck pond. Water soaked into the ground, into hair and clothes and skin until everything was saturated with moisture. It beaded on the new buds of the mahogany willows in the Fire Lord’s garden and dripped down the back of Katara’s neck as she relished the smell of sodden earth and young growth. Lightning flashed over the rim of the Caldera, the distant front of the storm the palace servants had been so concerned about when they tried to stop her going outside.

Truth was, she needed the cleanse of the rain. She had been a tight ball of wound nerves ever since her arrival at the palace, the frustration and pain over her breakup with Aang turned inward with nowhere to go. Waterbending katas could only do so much for stress.

In the Fire Nation at least, she had hoped to find a sympathetic ear in Zuko, but nobody in the palace had seen him for over a month. She would have been more worried if Iroh had been less nonchalant about his nephew’s disappearance, but she trusted the old man’s judgement. Zuko would return; she just had to wait. So she meditated under the boughs of the willow next to the turtle duck pond and visualised her anger leached away by the tickle of water along her skin as the tempest passed over her head.

“Katara?”

She turned at the sound of her name, called across from under the shelter of the arcade that bordered the garden. A grin lit her face as she spied the owner of the voice through the runnels of water pouring off the roof, and started running towards him even before she finished standing up. The answering smile on Zuko’s face faded to shock when he realised her headlong rush towards him couldn’t be stopped – and that she was soaked through.

The air left his lungs in a faint _oompf_ as she snared him in an enthusiastic, bone-squeezing hug, smiling into his shoulder.

“You’re back!” she squealed. “I was this close to going out to find you.”

“Katara, I… um…” Zuko swallowed around the blush crawling its way up his neck. “It’s… err… good to see you too. Uncle told me you were here.”

“What am I doing?” She leapt backward, eyes wide and her hands slapped over her mouth in self-condemnation. “Here you are nice and dry and I go and drip all over you.” With an almost careless twist of her arm, she pulled the water from Zuko’s Fire Lord robes and her own simple tunic. It looped around her in a silver arc before snaking in the direction of the already-overflowing pond.

Zuko took advantage of Katara’s momentary distraction to study her, the changes brought about by the seventeen months since they had last seen each other. Most of all, however, he used the time to quash the giddy flutterings of his stomach that had started the moment she hugged him. She had changed her hairstyle again; thick tresses now escaped the braided loops at her temples and stuck to her bare arms where the rainwater had soaked them through. The jitters in his gut refused to listen to him.

An enquiring trill from inside the lining of his sleeve caught Katara’s attention and left Zuko floundering to pretend he hadn’t been staring.

“What’s that?” she asked.

He lifted his arm, his face cracking into the genuine, bashful smile she had missed so much travelling the world with the avatar. Under the layers of silk a lump quivered, hinting at something small, sinuous, and alive, currently using the Fire Lord’s clothes as a hiding place.

“It’s alright, you can come out,” Zuko crooned. “This is Katara. I told you about her, remember?” He glanced up, eyes molten gold with softness. “He’s scared of the rain.”

“Scared of the rain?” she repeated faintly, her mind still stuck on how Zuko’s expression made her heart beat faster. “Who -?”

Before she could finish her question, Zuko’s sleeve wrinkled and shuddered as the thing inside wriggled its head out. Two bright eyes blinked up at her warily, large and dark against crimson sales. A forked tongue flicked out, tasting the scent of the strange person who spoke in such soothing tones, and the coppery tang of lightning that lingered on her skin. Like Zuko. The little beast cocked its head and stretched out a little further into the world, interested in the patter of rain on the shingles over its head. It snapped at a fly that buzzed past and the embroidery lining the hem of Zuko’s sleeve snicked in its claws.

“Zuko,” Katara breathed. “Is that… a _dragon_? I thought Ren and Shaw were the only ones left. Where did you find it?”

“I went to speak with the Sun Warriors, and there was an egg.” He shrugged, the corners of his grin spreading. “Before I knew what was happening, this little guy hatched out and wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“And you look so unhappy about it,” she teased. Her eyes, wide with fascination, followed the progress of the serpentine body as it crawled up Zuko’s arm, over his shoulder, until finally it settled in the crown of his hair, dislodging the flame-golden Fire Lord headpiece with a croak and a satisfied shuffle of its stubby wings.

“Must you do that?” Zuko chided, directing his frown upward. “I’ll put you out in the rain.”

The dragon peeped disdainfully at him.

Katara giggled at the affectionate display. “What’s his name?”

“Um…”

“He doesn’t have a name?”

Zuko raised his hands in protest. “He hasn’t liked any of the names I’ve tried! He just ignores them or puffs smoke at me.”

“The only person worse at naming things than you is my brother,” she replied. “Do you think I could…”

“What?”

For a second, Katara shrank into her shoulders, looking so much like an uncertain child that without thinking, Zuko found himself reaching for her arm.

“ _Wouldheletmepethim_?” she gabbled, cheeks blooming with colour.

Zuko coughed. “Um… I guess?”

With a brilliant smile she reached up, stepping closer so that an excited puff of breath wafted against Zuko’s unscarred cheek.

“Careful, he’s -”

But the little dragon was already crooning against Katara’s fingers, practiced as they were from finding the hidden spot under Momo’s chin that sent the lemur straight to sleep. She grinned wider as it angled the feathery line of its jaw into the touch, marvelling at its smooth scales and the unexpected warmth radiating from them. When its eyes closed in a show of blissful trust she pulled her gaze from the sight to share her triumph with Zuko.

She had forgotten the intensity of his eyes. Across the other side of the world when being with Aang became too much and she needed distance, she had stared into the fire and imagined its heat and light pooled into golden irises that had once burned with rage for her and then with something else and far more frightening entirely. And then, when her patience and strength finally snapped, hadn’t she run across continents to find relief in the reality of the image that haunted her dreams?

Memory, it seemed, was a poor artist.

She licked her lips. “Zuko, I…”

Thunder rolled right above their heads, the front of another storm building from the coast. The dragon squawked. It leapt from Zuko’s head and down Katara’s arm so it could find sanctuary in the thick comfort of her hair.

“That tickles!” Katara gasped as the dragon’s head rubbed along her jaw and a scaly tail latched around her throat.

Zuko pouted. “Little traitor. He’s going to strangle you.”

“Nonsense. Don’t you know all children are scared of Druk?”

The dragon trilled as if in agreement and buried itself still further under Katara’s hair.

“Druk’s a Water Tribe story,” she explained, stifling laughter at the confused slant of Zuko’s brows. “Like a cautionary tale. When I was little, Mom used to tell me not to go out in the summer thunderstorms or Druk would eat me.” Her shoulders started to droop, but she shook herself out of the memory and lifted her hand to resume petting the dragon.

“So it’s some kind of monster?” Zuko asked, relieved to have a way to continue their conversation along less awkward lines. Why was it he always ended up so uncertain around her?

“He’s a dragon, really. He’s meant to sleep under the ice in the winter, then in the summer when the sun doesn’t set he flies up and creates thunderstorms – he shakes the water off his wings for rain, and the thunder is the sound of him roaring. I can’t remember, but lightning strikes are meant to be when his eyes look at something.” She frowned. The last stories had been so long ago.

“Hm. Druk.”

“Ow!” Katara hissed when the dragon snapped at her fingers, clearly done with being cuddled. It dodged her steadying hands, tangling her hair as it climbed up the side of her head in what was clearly a favourite feat of acrobatics.

Zuko, it turned out, wasn’t paying attention. He was staring intently at the dragon, who, having reached the top of the waterbender’s head, was now flicking his tail idly back and forth, looking rather confused as if it had found itself somewhere unexpected and forgotten why it was there.

“Druk,” he said, slowly and clearly.

The dragon’s head snapped round.

“What?”

Before Zuko could warn her, the dragon bunched its hindquarters, balanced itself, and leapt across the gap between the two of them. It landed in an undignified heap in Zuko’s arms, its wings half-unfurled and its neck crumpled under the long serpentine of its tail.

“It’s not funny,” she griped at the chuckling Fire Lord. “You should teach him better manners.”

“I haven’t had to before,” he replied, gently untangling a stolen lock of her hair from the creature’s claws. “You’re the first person I’ve shown him to. Even Uncle hasn’t seen him yet.”

It was said mildly, but the implication of trust in the words froze Katara’s muscles as surely as if somebody had encased her in ice.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I think we know his name now.”


	2. 2016: Reincarnation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reflecting on a life shared together, Zuko and Katara watch the stars and hope for the future.

Sometimes it was useful, having a firebender for a husband. These days, even the balmy evenings of the Fire Nation spring were chilly enough to aggravate the ache in Katara’s joints, and only the heat radiating from the tea in her favourite ceramic teacup seemed able to ease her stiff fingers.

“That was a big sigh,” Zuko croaked next to her. He had draped a blanket over them both – a Water Tribe weave coloured with Fire Nation reds and golds – and wriggled his fingers into her grip beneath it.

“We’re old, Zuko,” she admonished, sipping her tea. “I can sigh if I want.”

“You’ve always sighed whenever you wanted, dearest. You’ve always raged and terrified the ministers, and gone haring off into battle when it suited you. It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you in the first place.”

She hummed. “I’m slowing down now.”

“Good, then maybe I can finally keep up with you,” came the chuckled reply.

They sat after that in comfortable silence in the Storm Viewing Pavilion in the Fire Lord’s garden, the fragrance of lily-jasmine blooms promising the heat of the summer to come. Despite its grand name, the pavilion had become something of a retreat for the pair of them over the decades, a hideaway for when they needed a breather from the demands of court or family. It offered a view over the eastern rim of the Caldera where the ocean faded away to a haze with the sky, or, on clear, still nights like this one, reflected the stars and the meteor shower they had come to watch.

“I can’t remember who it was who said it,” Zuko mused after a while, “But I’m sure someone once told me you can make a wish on shooting stars and they’ll carry it to the spirit world for you.”

Katara turned to her husband with a playful quirk on her lips. “And what wish does the Fire Lord want carried to the spirit world?”

“Everything I’ve wanted in this life, I got,” he replied. He leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers. It bore wrinkles now, worn thin as rose petals by years of worry and joy. “The next life, however… I wish I’ll meet you again – and maybe, not get off to such a bad start this time.”

“Not much could be worse than tying me to a tree as bait,” came the answer, the sting in the words long since mellowed. “But if that’s your wish, then mine is that, when we do meet again, I’ll recognise you.”

She tucked herself under his chin with a sigh as he wrapped an arm around her waist. The currents of destiny were ever unpredictable, full of shoals and hidden monsters, but as she snuggled into Zuko’s shoulder, Katara wished a second time on the next bright flash of falling meteor, praying for calm waters ahead that would keep their lives long and the wheel of reincarnation far over the horizon.

* * *

 

The radio speaker announced the boarding call for the train. Still somewhat flustered by the crush of people in Republic City, Naina leapt up as if her chair had been electrocuted, grabbing her bag from where she had stashed it by her feet. It was bulky, filled with all the instruments and reference books she’d been unwilling to leave at the North Pole, and weighed down her shoulder as she all but sprinted the length of the platform to board her train before it left her behind – there wouldn’t be another until tomorrow, and by then it would be too late.

She was journeying to the far southern edge of the Earth Kingdom, where she would embark on the United Forces’ newest research ship, the _Cormorant_ , bound for the underwater volcanoes bubbling off the shore of Whaletail Island. Future Industries were pioneering a new deep sea submarine, and out of every graduate of the Northern University, Naina had been the only one picked to join the complement of scientists, engineers, and adventurers chosen for its maiden voyage. There were rumours the avatar herself would be overseeing the launch, and as a native of the Water Tribes, it added an extra spark of nerves to her excitement.

“Last call for Shangzhao Port,” came the voice over the loudspeaker. “The train to Shangzhao Port will leave in two minutes.”

“Blast it,” Naina growled. She had yet to find the right carriage, let alone her assigned seat.

Preoccupied with finding her way, she didn’t notice the Fire Nation man until her overstuffed bag collided with his hip and sent him sprawling.

“Watch it!” he shouted.

“Oh spirits, I’m so sorry!” Naina adjusted the strap on her shoulder. “Can I help you up? Here.”

Taking the offered hand, the stranger, who wasn’t much older than her, hauled himself to his feet and dusted off his trousers, grumbling about moose lions in china shops. “It’s a good thing this equipment was designed to take a hit,” he snapped at her.

“I said I was sorry,” she replied, crossing her arms. “And you’re not hurt, right? It’s not the end of the world.”

The stranger only _hmphed_ and turned his cases for damage. The logo on the black boxes jumped out at Naina – a stylised water bird with dark feathers and a long beak.

“Hey, you’re not bound for the _Cormorant_ , are you?”

He glanced at her, all bright eagerness and blue eyes. “Why? Don’t tell me you’re coming.”

“Naina of the Northern Water Tribe. Marine Biologist.” She thrust out her hand, beaming, her earlier frustration at him melted away by the prospect of having some company on the journey.

“I’ve heard of you,” he said, new interest lighting his pale face. “Top of your class, specialising in deep sea bioluminescence.”

“I usually just tell people I like glowing fish.”

He smiled, reaching out to shake her hand. “Rikon. Spectrographic analysis.”

The moment their skin touched, both felt it, a jolt akin to an electric shock that tingled across every inch of skin and sent them off-kilter, like the world had shifted unexpectedly beneath them. Naina stared at the calloused palm brushed against her own dark skin, firm and warm and yet, different somehow to what she expected. When she raised her gaze to meet his eyes, she saw an echo of gold amongst the honey brown. Something unplaceable prodded at her memory.

“N-nice to meet you. And sorry again for the…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rikon said, his cheeks flushing with colour. “We’re going to be shipmates. I’ll have plenty of time to get you back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now I want to write a Zutara research ship AU. Anyone else interested?
> 
> Comments are welcomed!


	3. 2016: Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course the ceremony wasn't going to go exactly as planned, but Katara never expected to be reminded of one of the worst days of her life.

Flames rippled across sun-yellow silk as Katara gathered water into her palms and twisted away from the blast.

“This is my _wedding_ dress!” she thundered at the offending firebender. A swathe of ice daggers punctuated her words, forcing the assassin to retreat. “How – dare – you – ruin – this – for – me!” Each word snarled with venom as she hurled water whips at him across the plaza.

“You are unworthy to walk in the Fire Lord’s halls,” the assassin spat between blasts. “A bastard prince and a Water Tribe whore. The Phoenix will rise again!”

He was quick; his punches shot fireballs at her with unswerving accuracy and his footwork exchanged a grounded stance for mobility. But not for nothing was Katara considered the greatest waterbender in the world. She had spent years countering her elemental opposite, learning how to beat fire and air and the lithe deadliness of chi blockers. Memory flowed through her muscles, her strength augmented with experience.

Another quick flurry of punches and she was forced to dodge right, rolling over her back to rise again with her hands held like puppeteer’s fingers. She sliced them sideways, pulling all the water at her command into razor strips of ice so hard they embedded in the flagstones where they landed. Each one missed, her opponent driven forward so close she could see the whites of his eyes.

“Hah! Is that all you can throw at me, water witch? You missed!”

Katara’s grin was feral. “Look behind you.”

Confusion took the tension from his stance, but before he could truly register her words, water roared in his ears as a gigantic wave crashed over his head.

Katara held the assassin in her grip, suspending him, dousing the flames as he conjured them on his palms, waiting for his air to run out. So many firebenders, used to the fast heat and burn of their own element, forgot that water could _drown_. Finally she felt the choke of the man’s lungs, saw his eyes roll back in his head and the fight seep out of his muscles as he fell unconscious. She dropped him and gathered the water back onto her arms, ready to face whatever came at her next.

Across the square, pockets of violence erupted where her friends battled more assassins. Her eyes passed over Toph and Aang, raising clouds of dust as Aang scooped men up in a tornado and threw them into lightless cells Toph opened in the ground. Sokka yelled expletives at those foolish enough to come within reaching distance of Suki, who despite being noticeably pregnant still moved with the same lithe strength she had always possessed. Further away, Katara spotted her father and Iroh shoulder to shoulder with Haru, and beyond them others from the war who weren’t taking kindly to this interruption in the proceedings.

Together, their allies drove back the surge of Talons who had escaped detection hidden among the wedding guests. Foot soldiers for the elusive Black Phoenix, they had spent the last five years destabilising Zuko’s rule in an attempt to plant a more self-interested ruler on the throne. One who wouldn’t permit a Water Tribe ambassador, let alone marry her.

Finally, Katara spotted Zuko. He had gained the high ground on the dais at the end of the plaza, where the two of them were supposed to meet before joining hands and saying their vows. Behind him huddled the members of the cabinet unable to escape before the exits were blocked. None of them were firebenders, and could offer little help against the three black-clad warriors currently engaging their Fire Lord. He blocked the lunge of one and turned his fire against his comrades, billowing it into a storm that knocked all three off their feet.

He growled and turned away from the unconscious Talons at his feet, frantically searching the crowd. When his eyes met hers, the swift relief passing over his face hardened into fresh determination. They could both hold their own, but they were always stronger together.

Even through the leaden knot of worry in her gut, Katara felt her heart flip as he strode towards her. In the years since accepting the official post of Water Tribe Ambassador they had grown together, but apart from a few skirmishes and their sparring sessions, this was the first time she had seen him in battle. The crisp forms and powerful movements she remembered from the Agni Kai at the end of the war had become leaner, the raw emotion that still hung at his edges tempered with experience and self-assurance. He was magnificent.

Katara’s heart stuttered. A shadow dropped from the eastern roof and dodged between the combatants littering the plaza, using smoke and dust as cover.

“Zuko!”

Zuko saw. He also saw through haze of windblown ash that this latest assassin was nothing more than a diversion.

“Katara! Behind you!”

He wouldn’t be fast enough. A flare of light shimmered around Katara’s head, white-blue against the burgundy sunset. Her eyes widened, the terror in his voice freezing her into the memory of another fight, another swell of crackling energy, another moment when her heart stopped before the lightning could stop it for her. This time, Zuko knew he would be too late to save her.

Then the world sped up. Katara whirled, her hair frizzing with static. You can’t dodge lightning; it seeks you out. You can only redirect it.

She caught the attack in a water whip. Steam exploded outwards but she held on, coiling the stream of lightning around her like a snake. The assassin faltered. The triumphant leer slid from his face as he beheld the master waterbender, clothed in golden silk and silver mist. The woman who would be Fire Lady. He ducked as his own lightning surged back towards him, instinct fighting against the knowledge that death would finally come for him.

At the last second, Katara’s wrist flicked and her water whip curved to strike the roof beam. It split with a crack and a hail of splinters over the assassin’s head. He cried out, but too late. Roof tiles and rubble engulfed him, and his scream cut short.

Zuko reached Katara just as her knees buckled, and together they sank to the flagstones, too stunned to do more than cling to each other. Around them, the battle was calming, with only a few Talons left to fight or flee the reinforcements now barrelling into the plaza. The royal guards knew their business, and Zuko trusted Hakoda and the others to manage the clean-up, at least while he scrambled to get his thoughts together.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright.” Under his fingers, Katara quivered. “That was more difficult than I thought it would be.”

Zuko sighed and buried his face deeper into her hair. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“I’m here, Zuko, I’m here,” she breathed, rubbing circles between his shoulders. Her other hand smoothed down to rest over his heart, the strong, steady pulse enough to clear away the memory of _last time_ , when she had felt his veins shiver and spark with electricity and known it had been meant for her. Similar thoughts whirred in his mind, she knew, because of how tightly his warm hands fisted in the material of her dress.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he mumbled. “Gold suits you almost as much as blue.”

She chuckled and twisted her head so she could plant a kiss to the base of his ear. “Some wedding, huh? At least Sokka will be jealous. His wasn’t nearly so interesting.”

“Yes, because a gate-crashing terrorist organisation is something everyone wants to make the day special,” Zuo replied wryly. He loosened his grip just enough that he could pull back and examine Katara’s face. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Lightly, she ran her fingertips along the rough edge where his scar met unmarked skin. “Thanks to you, yes. And look at it this way -” she kissed the tip of his nose. “Nobody will dare say the Fire Lord’s wedding wasn’t memorable.”

He frowned. “We’re not married yet. If you remember, we sort of got interrupted.”

“Zuko, do you have any idea how many hours it took me to get ready this morning?”

“Um…”

“Far too many for me to want to do it again.” She gently brushed away his embrace and climbed to her feet. The dress was ruined, torn in two places, singed, and covered in dust, but it would have to do. “We are getting married. Today. No matter what.”

His smiled broadening, Zuko rose and caught his bride-to-be in one last embrace, pressing his lips to hers. “Let’s go find the Fire Sages then, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you think I was going to kill them? Nothing like that here.
> 
> I've read a lot of different Zutara wedding fics and I love all of them, and all have different ideas about what colour the two of them should be wearing. I know in the series and the comics Fire Nation weddings have the man in red and the woman in white, but I chose to put them both in gold because a) it's a cross-cultural wedding so normal rules don't apply, b) in China, white is the colour of mourning, so it's not appropriate for weddings and c) imagine Katara in gold.
> 
> I love hearing what you guys think!


	4. 2016: Lilac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One night the Blue Spirit catches sight of the avatar's waterbender in a park in Ba Sing Se. A plan to capture the avatar forms in his mind, but Zuko's plans never work out the way he thinks they will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some midweek Blutara. A bit of a style change with this one, but it wanted to be written this way. I realise I took some liberty using lilac flowers instead of the colour, as I think was implied in the prompt, but language is flexible and I am unrepentant!

The municipal pond in Ba Sing Se’s Upper Ring is a display those living lower in the city would marvel at. An entire landscape brought into miniature, complete with groves of manicured trees and granite representations of mountains bordered by artfully manipulated waterways. During the day it is the realm of ladies playing at a rustic life, giggling as their sweethearts punt them through the giant lily pads on the lake, or gossiping about the latest fashions under parasols to protect their skin from the fierce Earth Kingdom sun. At night, however, the pleasure seekers leave, the gilded gates are locked, and its walkways left unpatrolled even by Dai Li agents – because no vagrant would ever dare linger amidst such wealth.

Only the Blue Spirit inhabits the moonlight of the night-time park.

It’s the most convenient cut-through Zuko can find to lead him down to the Middle and Lower Rings. If he was disgusted with the conditions in the poorer districts of the city while living there, it is only a feeling that has grown since the opening of the Jasmine Dragon.

He tells himself as he creeps from shadow to shadow that these nocturnal missions are a way to stay sharp, to retain the skills that have proven so useful in the past. He knows better than most the tempestuous nature of destiny, after all, and he knows better than his uncle that it does no harm to be prepared. That he practices his skills by stealing coin from rich houses and sneaking it to communities in the Lower Ring is nothing more than coincidence. The thrill of danger keeps his nerves finely tuned, and the chance to upset smug Earth Kingdom nobles brings him a vindictive pleasure that is difficult to define.

A glimmer of light from a nearby bower of lilacs catches his attention. At such a distance it’s difficult to work out what it is, and the cautious voice at the back of his mind suspects a lure to a Dai Li trap, but from what he’s heard, their tactics are usually far more direct. The glimmer has a regularity to it that reminds him of his liangdao patterns and that is enough to intrigue him.

The scent of lilacs is almost overpowering as Zuko winds his way closer to the mysterious light, ready to reach for his swords if it is indeed a trap as he fears. It takes time; low branches snare the path and the eye-holes in his mask don’t give him much peripheral vision. Keeping quiet takes so much of his concentration that he nearly oversteps the edge of the copse before he realises where he is. And then something else entirely distracts him.

It’s the avatar’s waterbender. She’s dressed in lighter clothes than when he last saw her at the North Pole, and she is taller, the braided hair coming loose in wisps from her temples. In the first few moments where recognition is all he can process, Zuko’s mind screams out for the avatar, for everything he had grudgingly given up, and knows that if he can only surprise her now, all his old dreams will be realised, his father will have to forgive him, to bring him home –

And yet he remains motionless, entranced by her bending forms. He doesn’t even try to tell himself he is studying her for weaknesses, for an advantage to exploit. He’s too busy being amazed by how serene she looks in the moonlight, brows furrowed in concentration but with a small smile on her lips he’s never seen before. When they fought in the past, her shoulders were tense, the flow of her movements tempered with the force of a hurricane that never ceased to surprise him. This display is her taking joy in her abilities, stretching them through discipline and invention so that when she fights for real, her power comes to her fingertips without any effort at all.

Zuko once thought her merely talented like Azula, perfect at everything on first try, always one step ahead of him, and he resented her for it. But now his eyes narrow behind the Blue Spirit mask. Some of her movements recall firebending techniques, the sharp punches and leaps unlike any other move he’s seen her perform, but she lacks understanding, and falters. Each time her stream of water wobbles, she pauses, frowning as she tries to work out what she did wrong, and shifts into an earlier stance to repeat the pattern. Watching her fail breaks the spell of Zuko’s concentration. This is private. He shouldn’t be watching. He should have mastered his curiosity in the first place and not come here at all.

“Who’s there?”

The call stops Zuko in his tracks and he turns, confused, ready to leap to the waterbender’s defence because who else could she be talking to but the Dai Li? But when he looks, he finds her staring at him – or the shadows that conceal him – her guard up and chin raised in a way that’s painfully familiar. It triggers something in him, and a plan niggles at his mind. She’s the avatar’s waterbender. His uncle wouldn’t have to know…

With a steeling breath, Zuko squares his shoulders and steps out from underneath the lilac trees. He notices her tense further, but then her mouth parts in a little ‘o’ and she relaxes her hands.

“I know you,” she tells him. “You’re the Blue Spirit, right?”

Behind the mask, Zuko swallows. He nods slowly. Did the avatar tell her about how he was rescued from Zhao’s fortress, about the Blue Spirit’s true identity? No, he can’t have done, otherwise this waterbender would be snarling at him, rather than smiling. It’s enough to grow his confidence a little.

“You have wanted posters, you know,” the waterbender continues. “They say you’re a thief, but when I’ve gone to the Lower Ring I’ve heard people say you’re helping them.”

Again, Zuko nods. He unslings the leather bag from around his waist and shows her the night’s takings before setting it back in place, where the weight of coins won’t impede his balance or make noise to give him away.

“That’s good. When we came here, we thought everything was going to be easy. But then we couldn’t find Appa and the Earth King wouldn’t see Aang… I can’t even practice my bending properly unless I sneak out.”

Mention of the avatar focusses Zuko like nothing can. It’s almost too easy; the frustration that pulls her mouth down at the corners is something he knows too well, the need to act, to be _doing_ , only this time, he’s the one in control and planning more than one step ahead.

He offers his hand to her.

“What? I’m not sure what you mean.”

His hands frame the question: _Do you want to come with me?_ Although his heart hammers because he can’t afford for this not to work, he knows she’s going to give in. He recognises the fire that lights up her eyes when he suggests adventure – action.

“I really shouldn’t. What if something happens? Everything Aang’s working for will be ruined.”

A shrug of the shoulders. Life is unpredictable. Zuko focusses very hard on remaining nonchalant when she finally sighs in resignation, rolls her eyes, and mutters, “I’m going to regret this,” with such an air of suffering it’d be funny if a needle of guilt hadn’t stabbed him in the gut.

“Alright then, let’s do this.” She smirks. “The others don’t need to know. My name’s Katara, by the way.”

* * *

 

That first night when they steal through the streets of Ba Sing Se, tension threads itself through every knot in Zuko’s shoulders. Already he doubts the efficacy of his idea to use the waterbender to get closer to the avatar and capture him, because when do his plans ever unfold the way he wants them to? He ignores the niggle at the back of his mind that cruelly proposes that success is not an outcome he truly wants. He can’t afford to second guess himself when so many things could go wrong already – they could be caught, or she could discover his identity and expose him to the Earth Kingdom authorities. As they flit between rooftops he idly wonders how many Dai Li she would flatten in an attempt to get at him before they did.

With a silent curse, he forces his mind back to task. The waterbender’s stealth is a welcome surprise, as is her ability to bridge the larger gaps across alleyways with ice bridges that muffle sound and melt away as soon as their feet have passed. It speeds the journey considerably, and it takes barely an hour for Zuko to land them on the roof of the correct alms house in one of the Lower Ring’s poorest slums.

“I’ll keep a lookout,” she offers, and hunkers into the shadow of the building’s gable. “I’ll smash an icicle on the ground if I hear anyone coming.”

He hesitates for only a moment before deciding to trust her. It’s an unusual feeling, but not unwelcome, and besides, having someone watching your back makes slipping into and out of the confined spaces of Lower Ring buildings a less daunting prospect. If there is a confrontation, they can fight their way out together.

The second floor of the building is given over to a clinic run by an ageing priest. Many of the beds are taken by pox victims, their low moans of discomfort enough to mask his feet against the half-rotten floorboards. Zuko pities them, but is thankful for their delirium as he empties the last of the stolen coin into the donation box. It should be enough for some food and new blankets, at least.

Silvery light catches Zuko’s eye and he turns to find Katara bent over the bed of a child suffering from fever, her hands glowing. As he watches her smooth her hands over the boy’s chest, his breathing eases, the sputum clogging his lungs drawn out by the healing power of water.

This, then, is why the avatar always seems to heal so quickly. For the first time, Zuko finds himself jealous of another element, unable to take his eyes off the flowing movements of Katara’s hands and the compassionate tilt of her mouth. When did fire ever do something good?

“I can’t just leave them,” she explains when she notices his regard.

He knew that much about her already.

Next time they meet in the lilac grove, she’s wearing black too and he tries to tell himself the reason he’s happy she showed up is that it means his plan is working.

“Do you ever talk?” she asks. “What about during the day? You can’t be the Blue Spirit all the time.”

He tilts his head and shrugs before offering his hand for her to take. She doesn’t have to come with him, after all, but the fire in her eyes is brighter tonight, and before they even reach the edge of the park it’s obvious their movements are becoming more familiar to each other.

* * *

 

Weeks stretch on. Sometimes days pass between their outings because Uncle kept the tea shop open late or Aang wanted some extra training time; sometimes Zuko waits in the lilac grove to watch Katara practice her waterbending before he makes his presence known. And sometimes, he forgets about the avatar completely. They become so comfortable with each other that they can read the barest change in posture or body tension, so when one night Zuko senses the feather-light tread of someone following them, Katara throws up a wall of mist, covering their trail with a layer of ice before he even has to ask.

More Dai Li lie in wait ahead, ready to pincer the two vigilantes in a trap from which there will be no escape. It is Katara who leads the way down a side alley behind a stack of stinking refuse containers and presses them both deep into the shadows. With luck, they’ll pass through the net closing around them, and be free to go their separate ways come morning.

Old timber creaks and settles around them. Her eyes are on the far end of the alley, fingers poised on the stopper of her water skin in case they have to make a fight of it. Through the sour bile of rotten vegetables, the scent of lilacs clings to her and Zuko realises with a start that for the longest time, these nightly jaunts of theirs have had nothing at all to do with the avatar. He enjoys her company, a dangerous thought. What would she do if she found out that under the mask of the Blue Spirit stood the one who once chased her from one end of the world to the other?

The approach of something unfriendly breaks his train of thought. Instinct makes him reach for her, pulling her into deeper cover just as the anonymous, threatening figure of a Dai Li agent steps into the light at the end of the alley, head cocked and listening. They don’t dare breathe, but despite the danger, Zuko feels his concentration bleed to awareness of Katara’s chest pressing into his through the thin barrier of their clothes. His hands tighten on her wrists.

Just when they think they’ve been cornered after all, a street puma stalks past them on some business of its own. Its tail flicks lazily as it emerges from the alley and levels a haughty stare at the young man before it. Without a word, the young Dai Li agent crouches down, tickles the scruffy feline under the chin, and moves on, a secret smile curling his lips. The puma, too, goes on its way, and Katara and Zuko are left alone in a space that suddenly seems far too cramped. When she sags in relief at not being caught, her braid falls against his arm, and she is so close she can see the cracks in the veneer of his mask, even in the dark. Warm breath puffs between the parted, grinning fangs.

With her own heart hammering in her ears she feels her arms slide through his palms as they reach up to trace the lines of the mask. The grotesque expression is fixed into the wood, but she swears she can feel the rake of eyes along her skin. The Spirit’s hands have dropped to her waist; he leans in closer. What does he look like underneath? Are his eyes green, blue – are they set in high cheekbones or a rounder face? Every time Katara imagines, the features shift to copy those she sees in the street, but something tells her none of them are right.

He shudders when her fingertips curl under the edge of the mask, brushing against the smooth skin of his jaw. Heat radiates from every inch of him as she pauses, asking permission to continue.

For Zuko, the temptation to yield his identity, to throw caution to the wind and let her see his face, is almost overpowering, but he takes a moment to remember his earliest lessons. Control comes through the breath. He has to fight for it now as he pins her hands beneath his with the slightest shake of his head.

“I’ll keep my eyes closed,” she promises.

He’s the Blue Spirit; he doesn’t speak. All he can do is shake his head again, eyes squeezed tightly shut, because he hadn’t realised until this moment how much he would want to kiss her. He could let her, but it wouldn’t help. There would be no honour in it, because however much he has tried to pretend otherwise over the past weeks, they are still enemies, and he only accepted her company in the first place as a way to trick her into revealing the avatar.

It’s Katara who steps away, frowning eyes downcast, hands clutched close to her chest as if he’s burned her. That, he thinks, would at least be more honest of him.

“They’ve gone.” Her words cut into the darkness. “We should get going if we’re going to make it back in time.”

For the hour it takes them to sneak back to the Upper Ring, Zuko lets her lead the way, discontent gnawing at his gut. She barely pauses to catch her breath when they reach the top of the wall that borders the park, and Zuko can tell from the stiffness in her back that it’s not just the humiliation she’s trying to escape. She will never come back again, and his chance for – what? Honesty? Glory? – will vanish forever. In a moment of panic, he lunges to catch her arm, to keep her in place, even if it’s just for a few extra seconds.

“What?” she snaps. There are tears sparking in her eyes when she whirls on him. “This was a mistake. All of this – it was fun but… You’ve made yourself perfectly clear. I – I have to go.”

This time he catches her with a hand cupped around her jaw. The Blue Spirit, at least, can be something better than an enemy, and maybe that will be enough.

No words will do, though he has to bite his lips to keep them from spilling out anyway. Damn the spirits for the way his plans always backfire. Instead, he takes what small contact he can, resting his forehead on hers through the mask. His hand, tucking stray locks of hair behind her ear, maps all the things he wishes he could say. _I’m sorry. I wish things were different. Farewell._

A light breeze blows up over the wall as she returns the tentative embrace. The peace cannot last, but they close their eyes to make it stretch, to imprint every part of the memory on their minds. Around them, the first of the lilac blooms are shaken loose and tumble through the air with the last stars of morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for more, coming up right after the break.
> 
> In the meantime, feel free to leave a word or two. My muse lives for comments.


	5. 2016: Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healing Zuko's lightning wound takes a greater toll on Katara than she thought it would.

Katara has worked hard to save the Fire Lord’s life. For the day and night since Zuko collapsed in front of the palace, she has knelt by him, healing water in hand, trying to mend the pathways of energy ripped apart by Azula’s lightning. When she falters, or his breathing stutters in the quiet room, she resorts to words, by turn cajoling and snarling at him to live.

“C’mon, Zuko. You did not chase us twice around the world to give up now,” she growls this time, biting back the need to sleep. “Don’t think dying will get you out of talking to me about why you did something so stupid.”

She blinks back tears at that. He saved her life. Not even in the abstract sense of two people watching each other’s backs on the battlefield, but in a heartfelt dive to keep the lightning bolt from striking her. What that means and what she wants that to mean is not a train of thought she can face right now.

Most of her fury comes from frustration at herself and her inexperience with this kind of injury. Never before has a patient seemed so determined to slip between the layers of the world, alternately mending and sparking apart again. Now his fever is worsening and she’s run out of things to try. The sages have taken over for the most part, mainly because exhaustion has finally caught up with her, but they have more experience healing firebenders and the natural heat Zuko exudes is not something she knows how to deal with.

“We are confident, esteemed Master Katara,” says the chief sage with a low bow. “His Majesty will make a full recovery. We must thank you for that – we ourselves are unfamiliar with injuries caused by lightning, and it is certain that without your efforts to realign his energy, Fire Lord Zuko might not have recovered.” He bows again and retreats into Zuko’s room, where ritual incense curls around the mellow notes struck from a large brass bowl. It leaves her to wander the corridors to the apartments that have been set up for her. Aang will be waiting, no doubt, but with her thoughts so consumed by worry for Zuko, she lacks the energy to do little more than listen to him chatter about the Fire Nation’s take on fruit pies. For him, the war is over, the bad guy defeated, and peace a guarantee. Having lived with war her whole life, Katara knows better.

A headache is growing behind her eyes. She takes a moment to rest against a wall, pinching her fingers to the bridge of her nose to keep it at bay. The last of her healing water was spent on Zuko’s wounds, but there is more in her rooms, and they aren’t far away. As she sets off again she wonders what Fire Nation architects have against windows. Rice paper screens line the walls to let in light, but the corridor is stuffy and she finds her breath shallow in her lungs. Her tongue wets dry, cracked lips but it offers no relief.

“Are you well, Lady Katara? May I assist you in any way?”

She glances up and sees one of the palace guards, a boy barely older than herself eager to help but wary of coming too close. It’s the same fearful reverence with which they treat Zuko and the thought makes her nervous.

“I’m fine, Lee, just a little tired, is all,” she replies.

“As you say, My Lady. Should I order a light meal to your rooms? My sister likes to eat sorbet when she feels light-headed,” he adds helpfully.

“No, no.” Katara waves his concern away. Her ability to concentrate is slipping. “I’ll be…”

“Lady Katara?”

* * *

 

She murmurs in her sleep as something cool rubs against her forehead. Voices hover in the darkness above her, punctuated by the steady, bright _ting_ of a temple bell.

“Don’t try to move,” a voice rasps above her.

“Zuko?”

The cooling cloth lifts away and distantly she hears the dribble of water into a basin. Other sensations creep in. She’s prone on a bed, wrapped in silk and smoke and it makes no sense at all.

“Where am I?” she groans, opening her eyes. Even the dim room is too bright for her and she blinks at the sudden stab of her headache.

“You fell over,” Aang says somewhere to her left. “We were all really worried.”

“We told you to take it easy with healing Zuko,” Sokka adds. “You pushed yourself too hard and look what happened – you get a fever. And guess who had to _carry_ you all the way here?”

“I blame the food,” interrupts Toph.

“It might have been, if she ate anything.”

At that, Katara springs up with a snarl. “What was I supposed to do?” she snaps at her brother. “Ugh…” Her headache is worse than she thought, pinching white spots just behind her left eye. In a way, she’s glad for the excuse, because so far she’s been evasive about why she pushed herself so hard to save Zuko’s life. They all know the broad details, but she’ll never be able to explain the lung-crushing fear that gripped her when she saw him framed by the crackle of lightning. If the return for his life is a few hours of discomfort, she considers it a price well-paid.

The mattress dips as someone leans over and places a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“Drink this.” A steaming porcelain cup is pressed into her hands. “I told you not to move.”

She snatches at Zuko’s hand before he can pull it away, thankful that despite the thready pulse beating beneath his palm, the skin is no longer clammy, the qi realigned as it should be.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she tells him, though it’s nowhere near enough to express the depth of her gratitude. The others seem to recognise some of their awkwardness, because even Sokka is politely examining the cuffs of his newly-mended tunic. Aang frowns as the silence stretches, but remains quiet.

“The Fire Sages tell me it’s all down to you.” Zuko smiles, and there’s a secret in it she can’t quite decipher. “They’ve recommended bed rest and plenty of tea – and no bending for at least two days.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s ridiculous. I’ll be fine.”

“Katara…”

Suki, recognising the flash in her friend’s eyes, clears her throat. “Hey, I’ve got an idea, let’s go get Katara some food now that she’s awake. What do you think, Sokka?”

“Huh?” He catches on when his girlfriend gives him a swift dig in the ribs. “Oh, right, yeah. Come on, Aang. And you, Toph.”

“Aw man, but it’s just getting good. Sugar Queen is -”

“Now,” Suki snaps. She chivvies them across the cavernous room and turns to swing the door shut with a knowing grin. The silence left in her wake grows into something wriggly.

“Just because you’re Fire Lord now doesn’t mean you can boss me around,” Katara eventually teases.

Zuko blinks. “I… um… well, technically I haven’t had my coronation yet, so… And besides,” he adds, changing tack. “ _You_ may not have to do what I say, but there’s an entire palace full of people here who do.”

“I’m not scared of servants.”

“I’m not talking about servants.” His grin is wicked. “Li and Lo are like the worst kind of grandma – and they tag-team.” When she remains unconvinced, he winds his fingers into the curls behind her ear. “Just let me have this,” he asks. “Let me take care of you.”

His eyes are rich as honey in the candlelight, so intense Katara has to look away. Every part of her aches with exhaustion. When she blinks she sees again Azula’s triumphant sneer, the white, rushing light, hears the drawn out cry as Zuko leaps in front of her – and the protest dies on her tongue.

“Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two days left - don't forget to leave a comment.


	6. 2016: Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara has never tried coffee before. Zuko introduces her to the experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although (in my head) coffee originated in the Southern Earth Kingdom, long before the Hundred Years War Air Nomads brought it across the sea to the Fire Nation, where it became _fancy_. Sugar cane, however, does come from the Fire Nation.

In the early morning, Zuko was used to being the only one around. Toph, Aang, and Sokka could sleep like the dead, and despite their more disciplined natures, even Katara and Suki found it hard to leave the luxuriant beds that had been left behind in the Fire Lord’s holiday mansion. The place still held many memories for the Fire Prince, most of them bittersweet at best, but in the dawn quiet he could take comfort in the smaller things, like the emerald louries that chattered in the courtyard, the warmth of the new sun on his skin, and the smell of coffee.

He finished brewing his customary morning pot and was absorbed inhaling the rich, deep scent of it when Katara stumbled into the kitchen, stretching the sleep out of her limbs. Her eyes shot open as Zuko yelped and reeled backwards to avoid spilling the hot liquid on her – and managed to spill it on himself instead.

“Zuko, what -”

“I didn’t know you were -”

They both broke off, uneasy that they had started talking at once. Zuko, at least, had the excuse of busying himself with mopping up the spilled coffee and took his time placing his mug on the counter so he could fetch a cloth.

“I thought everyone else would be asleep,” Katara told him, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. “Do you want a hand with that?”

“Huh?”

She pointed to the dark stain splashed across the centre of his shirt.

“Oh, right. If you don’t mind – I mean…”

Before he could finish his sentence, she moved into a bending stance and swiftly lifted the water out of the cloth and sent it in a thin stream out the open door. “No sweat. So, what are you doing up?” she asked.

“The sun,” he answered with a shrug. “Everyone gets up early in the Fire Nation.” He gave the front of his shirt a cautious sniff, knowing already it would take a lot of washing to completely remove the coffee residue from the cloth. “What about you? I’ve never seen you up before dawn.”

She offered him a wry grin. “You rise with the sun, I rise with the moon – or rather,” she added with a nod out of the window, “I’m up as long as the moon is.” Sure enough, hung low above the ocean, the lopsided disc of a three-quarter moon shone like a milk stain on the lightening sky. “I gave up on sleep and decided to come start breakfast.”

Still not quite used to a relaxed Katara, it took Zuko a few moments to work out that she needed access to the sink and that she was standing in front of it. Eager to keep this new cordiality, he scrambled around for something to say.

“You don’t need to do that yet. Everyone else is still in bed, and you deserve a bit of a break, even if the moon won’t let you sleep,” he ventured.

“What did you have in mind?”

“What? Um…” One hand drifted to the back of his neck, which had become uncomfortably warm. “We could, err, sit for a while? On the gallery at the back. It’s east-facing and -”

“Okay.” She giggled at the almost self-conscious smile that pulled up the corners of his mouth, before leading the way to the garden veranda on the east side of the house.

It had been built as a way to view the gardens from the comfort of a dry platform during the monsoon season, when rain drummed on the roof and dripped in musical patterns from the eaves. Absently, Zuko wondered if Katara would like to see it, and whether after the war she would agree to come back here with him to witness a true Fire Nation storm – not that it would just be Katara, of course, the rest of their friends would be invited too. He doubted she would agree to come by herself.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she said, breaking into his panicked train of thought. “What’s that stuff you’re drinking?”

“The coffee?” he checked. “It’s – well, it’s coffee.” He frowned, trying to find a way to _explain_ something as mundane as coffee. Every Fire Nation home had a supply, even though tea was considered a more polished drink. “It’s made with these beans – they get roasted and then you make the drink by grinding them up and adding them to boiling water.” Unable to curb his tongue, he tentatively pressed forward. “Have you never had it before?”

“Well, no.” A lock of hair fell down over her shoulder, and she drew her fingers through it in what he was coming to learn was a nervous gesture. “We never had anything like it in the South Pole, and then when we were travelling through the Earth Kingdom, I saw the beans in markets but didn’t know what they were, and it was never as important as…”

“Trying to stop me capturing the avatar?” he offered.

“Well, yeah.” A soft sigh escaped her. “It kept us on our toes, at least. Sometimes I’m not sure Aang would have made it to the North Pole without you snapping at our heels.”

“Glad to be of help – I think.”

They sat in silence and watched the shadows of the trees shorten and swing with the sun. Heat shimmered on the still water at the horizon, promising a limpid, baking day though the veneered planks under their hands were still cool. Katara liked this about Zuko, the fact that he could just sit and soak in the world without having to talk about it. Aang was always active, and spirits forbid Sokka should sit still for more than two minutes at a time, so together the two of them were exhausting to be around sometimes. And while her feelings for Zuko were becoming more and more tangled by the day, she could take time to appreciate the little things.

“Do you want to try it?”

“What?”

“The coffee.” Zuko cleared his throat, not quite managing to look Katara in the eye. “You can try it, if you want. It’ll keep you awake though, if you’ve never had it before.”

“Sounds good to me.” Fighting to hold back a smile, Katara reached out for the offered cup, careful to avoid touching his fingers as she took it. A blush crept up her neck. Zuko was watching her sniff dubiously at the dark liquid, his eyes lit with an emotion flickering somewhere between amusement and anticipation. She bit her lip.

“I promise it’s not poisoned,” he chuckled.

“I never thought it was,” she huffed. Before she could change her mind she closed her eyes and brought the cup to her mouth for a large gulp. The bitter taste of the coffee hit her tongue and it was all she could do not to gag.

“Too much?” Zuko asked, snorting at the scrunched up expression on her face. “Are you alright?”

She eyed the remaining coffee dubiously. “I wasn’t expecting it to taste… like that. How can you drink it?”

“Wait here.” His hand pressed briefly into her shoulder as he climbed to his feet and walked back to the kitchen. When he returned a few minutes later, he paused, still grinning, to watch her scowling at the contents of the cup with the petulance of a small child.

“This’ll help,” he told her, handing her the jar of cane sugar Suki had purchased at the market the day before. “You’ll need to stir it in.”

“Thanks.”

She took the jar, again careful to avoid his hands, and shook some of the tiny golden crystals into the mug and used her bending to swirl the liquid until everything was dissolved. This time, she took a more cautious sip. Then another, and another, just to be sure. She glanced sideways at Zuko, who had resumed his lazy contemplation of the garden, his long arms propped behind him to support his weight and his legs stretched out over the edge of the veranda. His hair was getting longer, almost to the point where her fingers would disappear if she ran her hands through it.

“You know,” she said, coughing to dislodge _that_ thought from her head, “I wasn’t convinced at first, but I think I could learn to like this.”

His gaze slid sideways, alert and golden, so soft her breath stilled in her lungs. It seemed like such an innocent thing to say, but as he leaned closer she wondered if she was really just talking about the coffee. His eyes flicked down as she wetted her lips, about to say something even before she really knew what words to use.

A door in the house banged open, and a second later Aang zoomed into the garden on an air scooter. The birds drinking at the pond scattered in alarm, sending angry _kooway kooway_ calls into the shattered morning air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Now George understand. George get coffee, then Ursula want George!"
> 
> That's what this chapter made me think of. My brain has no filter.
> 
> PS. A lourie comes from South Africa, and is also known as the 'Go Away Bird' because of the sound of its call.


	7. 2016: Candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their first night together, Katara wakes up alone, or so she thinks.

As the Water Tribe ambassador to the Fire Nation, Katara had become used to sleeping on silk sheets and waking to the brilliant light of the equatorial sun on her closed eyelids. Sometimes there were meetings to attend or official visits to be made, and her mornings passed in a blur of chivvying servants and hurried flights down the palace corridors. She was glad this was not one of those mornings.

She stretched into the luxurious warmth of the sun on her back, its trail following the path that warm hands had blazed the night before. The memory of it drew a contented sigh from deep in her throat, a tingle she felt all the way down below where the covers had pooled at her hips, to the curl of her toes in the sheet. With a yawn she rolled her shoulders and let the movement flip her onto her front.

The golden haze fogging her senses flooded into her limbs, chilling them to the bone.

Zuko wasn’t on the other side of the bed.

Her first instinct told her it had all been a dream, that she had imagined the sweet culmination of all those long months they had spent edging closer, but, faced with the rumpled sheets on the far side of the bed and the pleasant ache between her thighs, she dismissed the idea. He had been here; they _had_ slept together. So where was he now?

Until last night all they had shared were secretive kisses and shy promises as they worked out how to wring happiness out of a life together filled with political posturing. Many prominent nobles were already disgruntled by the presence of a waterbender in the halls of the royal palace, close enough to advise the Fire Lord while they themselves had to petition and scheme for even a five-minute audience. How that would change when they found out the very same waterbender had been the reason Zuko refused all offers of marriage presented to him was anybody’s guess. It could cause civil war.

That thought stuck like a seed in Katara’s throat. Her heart clenched. Could that be why he left while she was sleeping? Could he regret…?

Katara shook the traitorous thoughts from her head with impatience. Wallowing in self-doubt had never done her any good, and Zuko had never abandoned her – well, he had once, but Ba Sing Se was a lifetime ago and no longer counted in the tally.

Her hair tumbled loose over her shoulders as she pushed herself into a sitting position and took stock of the room. When her eye caught the flare of candles in the long mirror, the tension was pulled from her body in a sigh, reluctant as she was to acknowledge it. Zuko hadn’t left, he was just meditating, as he told her he did every morning. On every inhale, the candle flames burned higher, the wicks sparking occasionally with the increasing heat, before shrivelling on the exhale until only the sullen purple core of the fire was left.

The rhythm of it was mesmerising, but the candles didn’t hold Katara’s eyes for long. Her gaze meandered across the bare expanse of his back, marking the contours of lean muscle and the handful of scars gathered in the years since the war. His hair had grown since then, long enough now to settle between his shoulder blades. The sunlight cast shadows the length of his spine, starting at the base of his ribcage and leading down to the scarlet waistband of the pyjama bottoms slung low over his waist. She would have been content to just watch him breathe for hours, but a voice broke into her reverie and stopped her appreciation short.

“I thought you were asleep.” Even from across the room, Katara could hear the lazy smile in his voice.

“I woke up, and I wondered where you were.”

“You should have said something.”

She smirked. “I was enjoying the view.”

The candles guttered for an instant as Zuko’s concentration wobbled. Setting his fists on his knees, he twisted around so he could deliver a proper retort. His tongue knotted on the words as he caught sight of Katara, all flushed skin and sinuous curves, propped up on one hand, watching him with the red silk sheets ruffled around her hips and nothing but the mantle of her hair covering the brown peaks of her breasts.

“I… uh…”

“You know,” she continued breezily, twirling a lock of hair through her fingers, “We do still have a few hours before we have to be anywhere.” She pouted. “And I’m cold.”

“Well then,” he replied, already standing. “We should do something about that, shouldn’t we?”

He took his time sauntering over to the bed, borrowing from his confident Fire Lord persona to cover his blush and the shyness that still fluttered in his stomach. Part of him still marvelled at the fact that, despite the prevailing views of court and everything they had been through, Katara had chosen _him_. Over the years she had had many would-be suitors, and she had turned them all away, for him. There was still time for everything to blow up in his face, but for the moment, he was going to revel in the happiness threatening to consume him.

The mattress dipped as he sat down and took Katara’s hand. He kissed her palm and watched the blush darken her cheeks as she giggled. Her pink tongue flicked out against her lips.

“You never said ‘Good morning,’” she informed him.

He brushed his mouth up the inside of her wrist. “Good morning.” He kissed higher. “But you know, you’ve always been grumpy in the mornings.”

She snorted. “That was always Sokka’s fault. But if this is how I get woken up, I think I could learn to like it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured, pressing closer. The pulse point in her neck jumped under his lips as their embrace grew more intimate, hands roaming, still slightly hesitant but earnest in their affection. In their alcove across the room, the candle flames burned higher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Zutara Week everyone!


	8. 2017: Fire Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara's getting married. She's excited, but there are many in the Fire Nation court who are not looking forward to it quite so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's another Zutara Week! I'm thinking of turning this into a bit of a tradition since I don't do much work with prompts most of the time. Just like last year, I'll upload another chapter every day of the week based around the prompt. These will be standalone stories out of chronological order about Zuko and Katara's life together, although there will be some references to last year's chapters. 
> 
> Sit back and enjoy!

There was a time, not so long ago, when waterbending brought Katara nothing but pleasure. The knowledge that she had risen to mastery in just a few short months, coupled with the sinuous push and pull of her element, the flowing rhythms of her qi, made her daily practice a delight. In the eerie tranquillity of Ba Sing Se and through the stressful days cooped up at the Western Air Temple, it had been a balm, and even here, in the Fire Nation, waterbending by the turtle-duck pond was once an activity solely for her enjoyment.

Now, however, she can feel the hostile eyes on her back, can almost hear the whispering behind pale hands that follows her everywhere. Each move she makes is a political statement about who she is and what she intends to be. After all, the scandalised ministers proclaim, nobody ever heard of the Fire Lady being a _waterbender_. Part of her enjoys flaunting her powers, just to irk them with her presence. These old men who dragged the war on for their own profit, who remained too shrewd to be discarded in favour of more progressive minds. They’ve made an art of pestering Zuko, running him in circles, and this is the only diplomatic form of petty revenge she can take.

Still, she misses the anonymity she had before she and Zuko announced their engagement.

She’s getting married. Growing up, Katara had never had time to think about marriage, let alone the person who might one day be her partner, because the only other person her age left in the village was Sokka, and even thinking about it… ew. And then there was the war and the avatar and the mission to save the world, and since then it’s been one thing and another, perhaps a destiny she’s been running from all along. She still doesn’t know how to feel about it.

That last part isn’t entirely true, she chides herself as she sweeps into Pentapus Stance. She loves Zuko, and the thought of marrying him, being joined to him as Tui and La are joined in the heavens, makes her giddy in a way she doesn’t have words to describe. No, it’s the enemies they’ve made along the way that has her worried, the conservative factions in court, the warmongers, whispers of a group calling themselves the Talons that stir in the underbelly of the city.

All these thoughts cloud her mind, however, and make the water shiver between her arms, so she forces them away. There’s a change in the air behind her. She allows herself a grin, but doesn’t pause the flow of energy from one hand to another as she hears Zuko settle into the roots of the gingko-willow by the pond. He always has had a knack for turning up when she least expects it.

She rises into her final stance and sends the water back into the pool, opens her eyes. Zuko smirks at her, though she can’t tell whether the appreciation in his gaze is for her figure or for the show of bending skill. Perhaps for him, respect and desire go hand in hand.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says. “I was rather enjoying that.”

She flips her hair over one shoulder and steps into the cooling shade of the willow. “It’s getting too hot. Besides, I’ve been told it’s the height of impropriety to turn your back on the Fire Lord.”

With a low chuckle, he grabs for her hand and pulls her into his lap, onlookers be damned, and presses a kiss to her temple. She leans into the gesture, tilting her head in an open invitation he all too gladly accepts, leaving a trail of soft lips and nipping teeth down the length of her neck, little kisses that trace a line he knows off by heart. Her giggles turn breathy when he laps at the sweat beaded on her collarbone.

“Don’t tell me you came out here just to have your way with me,” she says.

“No,” Zuko replies, “but maybe you can take me inside later and have _your_ way with me.” Tucking his arms around her waist, he leaves off his teasing and nuzzles deeper into the scent of her hair. “I found something I wanted to show you.”

“Oh?”

It’s black silk bundle embroidered with phoenixes and pomegranates, the golden thread under-sewn with a rainbow of other colours that spark when the light catches them. For a few moments Katara simply stares at the craftsmanship, still overawed that such regalia can exist when she grew up in a world where beauty came only second to necessity. But Zuko is waiting for her to open it, so she delicately unknots the twined silk cords that hold it closed, and peels back the protective folds of material to reveal a necklace made of gold-chased jade beads, simple enough to look at, but very finely made. With Zuko’s help, she lifts it from its wrappings and lays it against her neck, holding it in place so he can fasten the clasp to keep it there. For a while they sit, admiring the lightness of the green stone against the dusky shade of her skin.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs eventually.

“It was my mother’s.”

Katara’s eyes snap to his. “Your -? Zuko, are you sure you want me to have this? I…”

“She would have wanted you to have it,” he informs her, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “And I for one think it looks better on you than gathering dust in the family vault.”

“You know, you’re still having trouble with those compliments,” she teases.

“Pesky things,” he answers. “But I _am_ getting better at them, oh most radiant blossom of my life.”

“That’s just overkill.”

Their fingers trace absent patterns along each other, their silence filled by the splashing of the fountain and the cheeping of the turtleducklings as they hunted for insects.

“I wish I could have met her,” Katara voices eventually, though she doesn’t add all the questions she would ask, all the doubts she might share only with another woman who knew what it was like to be treated more like an icon in a temple than a person.

Zuko squeezes her hand. “She would have loved you.” He plants another kiss to the temple.

“The ministers don’t seem to think so.” The words are bitter. She can’t help it. “They’ve found a new sport in making comparisons between now and ‘the good old days’.” _When the fire lady was everything she was supposed to be_. Zuko tenses beside her, but he says nothing. He knows better than most that she needs to let out the things she been bottling up, without judgement, and only strokes her back, calm, long passes from shoulder to waist and back.

“Are we doing the right thing?” she asks, when she finally musters her courage. “I’m still worried it’s a step too far, too soon. It’s not that long ago our nations were at war with each other.”

“Katara.” Zuko’s voice is firm and warm, like the soft light of embers. “Listen to me. You will be an amazing Fire Lady. You’re not my mother, but then, the Fire Nation back then was a very different place.” For a moment, his expression darkens, and she brushes a gentle hand against his scar, still grieving for him, still angry for what his father did.

“There’s nobody better suited. You’re already my partner –” kiss to her cheek – “my advisor –” to her forehead – “the love of my life.” The final kiss is delivered to the tip of her nose, and it makes her chuckle. “This is just going to make everyone else in the world know that. But…” And here, his voice drops, and because he treasures her, “If you’re having second thoughts, if you want to –”

“No!” There’s never been a decision she’s more sure of than wanting to be his wife. She takes his face in both her hands, turns it to stare him straight in the eye. “Zuko, I am marrying you. I said yes, and I don’t regret saying yes, not for a minute. And that’s not just out of spite for all those crusty old men who like to grumble every time I walk into a room.”

His grin comes back. “Well, I’m glad we cleared that up.”

She laughs again, sighs as she rests her forehead against his. It will be hard, she knows, but she’s blazed a trail before, and they’ve come through worse.

“I’m just worried.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“Good.” And he takes gentle hold of her chin and angles her head so he can kiss her properly, propriety be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you folks tomorrow, and in the meantime, tell me what you think :)


	9. 2017: Underwater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fire Lord's family is on holiday when the unthinkable happens. 
> 
> cw: tsunamis and their aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some angst for Day Two

His family was underwater.

It had happened so fast. A rumble deep as a dragon’s roar that shook the ground, a rush like a storm wind, and Zuko only had time to turn and watch as a wall of water thirty feet high consumed the matchstick figures of his wife and their two-year-old daughter. What seconds ago had been a shining white beach dotted with emerald palms between the twin horns of Ember Island bay was now a churlish, writhing mass of dirty water that glugged and sucked greedily at the high ground it could not reach. There were others, of course, further down the beach, and as Fire Lord he should care, but what use was that now?

He felt like he was drowning, his whole body numb, his ears ringing. The dragon kite he had gone to retrieve from their room as a surprise for Izumi slipped from his nerveless fingers, the red paper torn from the bamboo frame when it hit the ground. At Katara’s insistence, they had come to Ember Island, to the old house that had served them so well during the war – a renewing of tradition, she had said, now that they had a family of their own, a way to break the chains of the past and forge a new future, and he had been only too happy to go along with her wisdom.

And now his future lay in splinters beneath a raging sea.

Dimly, he became aware of a pressure on his arm. One of the royal guard was holding him back, with such force his sleeve threatened to tear at the seams. He felt a snarl rising to his lips, a tongue of fire coiling to explode with a lack of control he hadn’t felt in years.

“Your Majesty, I – I’m sorry,” the guard stammered. “I’m afraid… there’s nothing you can do. They’re gone.” She dropped her gaze and let go of his sleeve before sinking into an abject bow on the polished floor of the Fire Lord’s summer retreat. “We have failed you, Your Majesty.”

Zuko turned away, his eyes back on the swirling water, as if it would recede by his will alone. “You don’t know her like I do. I won’t give up on her.”

At fourteen, she taught herself waterbending with enough skill to best him; by fifteen, her power was such that she brought the avatar back from the dead; he had seen her bend blood and suspend an entire storm in pursuit of vengeance. And she had only grown in skill as the years passed.

“She _is_ a master waterbender,” one of the servants was saying. “And that _is_ all water.”

“A tsunami isn’t just water,” someone muttered back.

The sea started to recede. Huge waves carried water in to the bay, but each crest got smaller, each one reaching a little less far inland, leaving the rank stench of seaweed and rotten mud behind. Numbly, Zuko led the way down into the muck. He ignored the pale, flapping bellies of stranded fish, barely registered the upended corpses of trees that blocked his path down to the ruined beach. He climbed them, or blasted them out of the way, and walked on.

“What’s that?” shouted one of the guardsmen.

Zuko followed the line of the pointing finger, his heart beating a fierce tattoo against his ribs. There, just where the original shoreline once stretched in a swathe of fine sand, a huge, whitish curve rose gracefully out of the mud, nestled gleaming amidst the destruction like a pearl.

A dome of ice.

The guards cried out as their Fire Lord broke into a run, leaving them to fall behind in their heavy armour and their doubts, but Zuko hardly cared. Hope blossomed in his chest even as the last of the great wave wrapped around his legs and threatened to carry him out to sea. He shouted Katara’s name. He tripped over a log hidden beneath the murk, coughed on a mouthful of fouled seawater and shouted again until his throat cracked with the effort.

The ice, up close, was not the pure blue-white it looked from a distance. Instead it was brackish, gritty, caught with flecks of algae and small twists of seaweed, its opaque sides polished smooth by the churning scrub of the sea. A long, forked crack ran up one side, almost twice the height of a person.

“Katara!”

Silence.

Zuko pounded on the ice without noticing the pain that shot through his wrists, how his waterlogged robes dragged at his arms, and still he got no answer. He hesitated to use his firebending, in case he caught them on the other side when he broke through, but the cracks were getting deeper and the ice itself was taking on the porous, brittle feel of old bones, which he knew from time at the South Pole meant it was rotten. The dome might cave under its own weight at any moment, crushing any survivors beneath it.

That dark image decided him. Taking three steps back, he breathed deep against his panic, narrowed his focus, and loosed a blast of fire.

Katara and Izumi were trapped inside. They were alive. They _had_ to be alive. He had to reach them. The flames burned hotter, white hot, singeing his clothes and his hair so that the smell of burning covered the stench of the water.

And then he was through. Zuko heard crying through the crack he had made and recognised his daughter’s voice, the words _Mama, Mama wake up_ just recognisable through the stream of sniffled whimpers.

_No._

He kicked out at the wall, widening his opening just enough to get through. Water poured in with him. Izumi screamed, a tiny figure at the centre of a perfect ring of white sand, her hands clamped around her head to shield herself from the terror of the monster that had made her mother fall down and now must be coming back to finish the job.

“It’s alright, baby,” Zuko soothed. He couldn’t look at the crumpled form beside his daughter, not yet. “It’s only Daddy – Daddy’s here.”

He crouched in the rising puddle of seawater and reached out a tentative hand to his daughter’s shoulder, so little, so frightened. Izumi gulped and peeked through her fingers, wide eyes glassy with tears. “Daddy?” She teetered towards him.

“It’s me,” he said again, arms open. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

“Tha’s what Mama said,” cried the little girl as she clung tight to her father’s chest. “She’s not moving!”

_No. No no no no no._

“Wake her up, Daddy!”

“It’s alright, Izumi, it’s alright.” Zuko kept up a steady stream of words as he gently set her down and steeled himself for what he might find when he looked at Katara. He trembled as he reached for her.

She lay sprawled on her side, her hair curling over the wet sand, completely still, eyes closed, without any apparent injury but without any sign of life, either. Blood dripped in a steady flow from her nose, and already coated her face with a dark, sticky mess that Izumi had evidently tried to wipe away. Above, the ice crumbled further, the cracks spread. Zuko stretched out a hand and held it in front of Katara’s mouth, his breath held in prayers as he waited to feel a ripple of air over his skin.

_Please_.

He gasped like a drowning man when she breathed. It was shallow, barely there, but it was warm, and as he gathered her into his arms it strengthened into a whine of pain.

“Katara?” He called her name again, dusting sand away from her skin. “Please wake up. I’ve got you, you’re safe now – just _please_ wake up.”

A frown creased a line between her brows. Her eyes fluttered.

“Katara?”

“What…” She gasped and tried to struggle, but Zuko held her still. “Izumi, where is she, what –?”

“Mama!” Hearing her name, the small child threw herself at her mother’s neck, and for a long moment the whole family knotted together, gripping tight with relief that they were alive and together and safe.

“What happened?” Katara asked eventually, still pressed as firmly as possible against the comfort of Zuko’s neck. “I remember the wave, and there wasn’t any time to run, and…”

“You were underwater,” he explained, pulling back a little to brush hair out of her face. “You shielded yourself with this, you protected Izumi, and I –” He choked, found his cheeks wet with salt. “I was scared I lost you both.”

“You didn’t,” she replied, pushing through her dizziness to rest her forehead against her husband’s. “We’re still here.” She chuckled, and then winced when her head gave a particularly painful throb. “We might have to find somewhere else to go on holiday, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	10. 2017: Steamy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara's first 'oh no, he's hot' moment

“Ta-da!”

Sokka stood in front of the rest of their group, his hands held out in an expansive gesture of presentation, with a grin on his face so wide it crinkled his eyes and showed every one of his teeth. Behind him stood a circular construction in mismatched stone – likely scrounged from the Western Air Temple’s crumbling masonry – which had a conical roof made of bamboo struts, overlaid with the tarp that used to form the roof of their shelter when they were still camping in the wilderness. Holes in the masonry were plugged with bunches of grass, and the whole thing looked like it would struggle to withstand even the smallest puff of air.

At least it explained his strange behaviour that morning.

“Well?” he demanded. “What do you think?”

“Uh…” Zuko glanced at the others, rubbing the back of his neck. “What is it?”

“It’s a shack,” Toph said. “Even I can see that.”

Sokka gave a disgusted squawk and threw his hands in the air. “It is _not_ a shack!” he protested. “It’s a steam house. It’s a Water Tribe tradition!”

“I’ve heard of these!” Aang chimed in excitedly. “You sit in them and sweat out all the toxins in your body.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Twinkle toes, but we’re all already pretty sweaty. This humidity is going to kill me.”

“It’s meant to be very good for reaching the spirit world,” Aang replied with a shrug.

“Oh no,” Sokka groaned. “We aren’t doing that again. I was weirded out enough the first time, or don’t you remember what happened to me in Hei Bai Forest? No.” He held up a hand and began to count off on his fingers. “First, we are going to sit in there. Second, we’re going to relax and forget for an afternoon that we’re going to have to beat the Fire Lord. Third, we’re going to emerge refreshed and ready to get back to work.” He turned to Katara, the only one of the circle who had yet to speak. “Does that sound like a good plan?”

“Well, you are our go-to plan guy,” she replied, smiling. Despite the improvised construction, the roundhouse really did look like one of the steam huts they had had back in the village, before the soldiers went to war and the struggle for survival meant they had to do away with such luxuries.

“Do you have the camel moss?” she asked. The sweet-smelling lichen was added to the water to add fragrance to the steam, often along with other, more relaxing herbs.

Sokka beamed. “Bato gave me some before the invasion,” he said, and offered her a blue-patterned pouch filled to the brim with feathery, greyish moss. “It’s the real deal.”

“It is!” she cried, inhaling the sweet scent of the bag’s contents. “But… how are you planning to power this?”

“How do you think? We have one master waterbender –” he pointed to her – “One jerkbender –” to Zuko – “And one avatar who can do both. All we need to do is get the coals going and it’ll stay hot for hours.”

Katara glanced at Zuko and found him watching her warily. They had been in a cool stalemate ever since his return from the Sun Warriors with Aang, which had proved once and for all that whatever his reasons, the Fire Prince was no longer out to capture Aang. That made him an ally, and as the others became more accepting of his presence among them, her open hostility became harder to justify. Aang was especially good at throwing her pleading looks that made her feel guilty for being suspicious.

But how else could she act? Down in the catacombs of Ba Sing Se, she had let her guard down, and she was all too well aware how _that_ had turned out. She couldn’t afford to trust him again, if only for Aang’s sake, but being so wired all the time was beginning to exhaust her.

And it was especially hard since Zuko was nothing like she expected him to be, day to day. She wanted him to be a stuck-up prince who left mess and expected others to clear up after him, but if anything, he was more considerate than the others.

“Don’t think I don’t see through this little act,” she had spat when he offered to clean the dishes after breakfast the previous week. “Why on earth would you want to?”

He had shrugged. “It’s not fair that you do everything.”

“Says the prince who’s never done a day of hard work in his life.”

For a beat, he had said nothing, clearly working out the best way to answer – he had taken to not addressing her hostility directly, having learned from Aang that sometimes it was better to circle and let your opponent do the work. That was frustrating, too.

“Believe what you want,” he had told her eventually. “But I lived in the lower ring of Ba Sing Se for months, and there weren’t any servants there.” And he had walked away.

The words had bothered her all day. She realised that between leaving him in the snow at the North Pole and finding him again in a tea shop in the Earth Kingdom, she had no idea what had happened to him. Thinking it might not all have been sunshine and daisies for him rankled, but then so did the fact that his offer to help had seemed genuine, and she had only snarled at him on reflex. Nobody else ever even _noticed_ that she did most of the chores, let alone offered to help.

The next day, she had asked him, quietly, if he could sew. When he had answered, quietly, that he wasn’t very good but could mend basic tears, she knew he understood her sort-of apology, and walked away with a curious kind of twisting in the pit of her stomach. They hadn’t spoken since.

Now, Katara found herself shepherded into the steam house with everyone else. Inside it was snug, the light dimmed by the thick canvas of the roof, and it was very warm. A bucket of water stood on the floor next to a fire pit, the camel moss already steeping, waiting only for someone to ladle it out over the cluster of glowing coals. Sokka already sprawled across one of the benches, his arms and lanky legs spread out in a decent imitation of a starfish.

“Budge up,” she huffed, nudging one of his legs with her foot. “This is great.”

Her brother cracked open an eye to look at her. “You work hard, Katara. You deserve a break every now and then.”

She frowned, unsure how to respond to such an unprecedented acknowledgement of how she took care of them, but before she could dwell on it too much, Toph barged through the entrance, closely followed by Aang, and Katara had to sit down or risk stepping in the fire. Even with just four of them, the circular hut was rather squashed, and she felt an elbow dig uncomfortably into her side as she tried to get comfortable. And then Zuko arrived. Without his shirt.

It shouldn’t have bothered her so much – Aang and Sokka were topless, too, after all, though they were family so that didn’t really count. And neither of them looked like Zuko. In the muted light, the glow of the coals highlighted the fine tone of his physique, and the low ceiling only emphasised how _tall_ he was. How had she never noticed that before? Suddenly self-conscious of how much skin she was exposing, sat there only in bindings and shorts, she tucked her legs up under the bench and brought her arms to rest in her lap, not quite hugging around her stomach. A chill ran up the back of her neck where the skin was exposed to the air.

“You okay, Sweetness?”

She glanced at Toph. “Fine.”

“Yeah, sure.” The younger girl grinned like a cat-monkey with cream, which did nothing to ease the new tension in Katara’s muscles.

And of course the only free space in the steam house was exactly opposite her. Zuko sat down, apparently unconscious of her irritation, and leaned back against the stone wall of the hut. His unruly hair skimmed the roof. Frowning, Katara supposed she should be grateful he was so far away, because otherwise he would have no doubt been next to her. She wouldn’t have been able to see him unless she looked – and she did _not_ want to look, she had no interest in looking – but he would have been pressed against her side in the tight space, all that lean muscle and warmth and the dry muskiness of his scent.

“So how about some steam?” she asked, to distract herself from the shudder that tickled across her shoulders. She wanted to blame it on revulsion, but her heart wasn’t quite in it.

“Allow me, milady,” Aang said with his goofiest smile before she could raise her hand to bend the water. She grinned back at him, and seconds later the hut was filled with a cloud of thick, fragrant steam.

Katara allowed herself to drift, and the others did, too. In the silence, she sank into the soothing aroma of the camel moss, letting it take her back to a time when she was very young and the elders would gather round the long-fire in the big house to tell stories about the spirits. She amused herself by bending the steam into the shapes of fish and great whales, and the lithe, sinuous form of the dragon who was meant to bring thunderstorms in summer. Feeling the corner of her mouth quirk up, she flicked her fingers and the dragon breathed a tiny puff of steam where it circled above her head.

The smile faded when she caught a pair of golden eyes watching her from across the coals. Zuko glanced away, but the look made something itch beneath her skin, so she closed her eyes and leaned her head back, determined to block him from her mind completely.

When she opened her eyes again some while later, everyone else had already left. Most of the steam had escaped through the cracks in the walls, and all that was left was a dry, clean heat that raised prickles of sweat along her skin. Rubbing her tiredness out of her eyes, Katara stood and shuffled to the entrance, a slight headache throbbing behind her eyes brought on by dehydration. The fountain in the nearby courtyard ran with cool water, a perfect substitute for the ice pool traditionally used to clear away the sticky heat of the steam house.

As she walked through the surprisingly cool air of the temple halls, Katara wondered where the others had gone, why nobody had woken her when they left. The sun was low on the horizon, which meant it was almost dinner, and she had done none of the preparations she had meant to do. The worries that just a few minutes before had seemed trivial crowded round her, twining back into her limbs like the vines around the Air Temple itself, and with a sigh she bent the sweat off her body without waiting for the pool and hurried the familiar route back to the hall they used as their main shared space.

What she found left her open-mouthed.

The living space, usually scattered about with spare bedrolls, scrolls, and plans, was neatly tidied with a stack of firewood piled in one corner and their food supplies in another. She could smell dinner cooking, and noticed Sokka frowning over the stewpot. Occasionally, he muttered to himself and gave the fire below a prod with a long, forked stick, while Toph bent the dust out of the cracks in the floor so that the mosaic there gleamed.

“What is all this?” she asked.

The pair froze as if caught doing something they should be guilty for.

“Katara!” It was Aang, sliding to a stop behind her, out of breath.

“Aw man, Twinkle Toes,” Toph complained. “You were meant to keep her busy.”

“I had to feed Appa,” protested Aang, before turning to Katara. “It was meant to be a surprise,” he explained, blushing. “You do so much for all of us, and, well… we thought you deserved a break.”

Katara felt the same suspicion as earlier sneak over her. “Aang, this wasn’t… Zuko’s idea, was it?” she asked. The Fire Prince was nowhere to be seen.

“No!” Aang cried, hurt. “It was mine. Though I was training with him when I had the idea,” he added.

At that moment, Zuko himself emerged from deeper within the temple, carrying a small bag with him. He handed it over to Sokka, who sniffed dubiously before pulling out several small jars of what looked like spices. Katara watched as Zuko gave instructions about which to add to the food already bubbling on the fire, the slight stain of colour on his cheeks the only indicator that he knew she was there. Could he have masterminded this?

Aang was still talking.

“… so we decided to give you a day off, and Sokka said we should make your favourite, so it’s a good thing Zuko said he brought Fire Nation ingredients with him when he came after us. What do you think of it?”

She glanced down into Aang’s grinning face, the grey eyes eager for her approval, and found her thoughts still whirling. She still didn’t trust Zuko, she couldn’t bring herself to forget what he did in Ba Sing Se. There had been too many times when she thought the best of the world and the consequences of her good nature snaked back to bite her in the arm. But still… If her suspicions were correct, then he had done all of this for her, just to be nice, without any desire for his efforts to be recognised.

Her chest constricted.

“Well?” Aang prompted. “Isn’t it amazing?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love :D


	11. 2017: Icarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko has a special surprise to welcome Katara back to the Fire Nation as Water Tribe Ambassador

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I'll admit this prompt was a little trickier. It fits if you squint.

A fanfare crowded onto the royal dock in the Caldera’s southern port. The site of the invasion on the Day of Black Sun, it now bore little resemblance to the ruin that was left when the Fire Nation’s forces finally won out over the allied army that had tried to conquer the capital of the oldest nation in the world. Four years on, the craters left by Earth Kingdom mortars had long since been removed, and in their place banners were strung in scarlet, gold, and shimmering blue to welcome the first official ambassador from the Water Tribes in almost one hundred years.

Zuko fidgeted as the wooden-hulled sailing ship emerged out of the morning haze. Seeing it now, part of him admitted he’d been worried Katara wouldn’t come back at all, that he was kidding himself when he thought she blushed telling him it would only be three months to see how the Southern Academy was coming along and to gain the official title of ambassador from her father, and then she would return. When she left, he was despondent; when she sent the letter to say she was coming back, he grew restless, cursing himself for not insisting on sending an airship to fetch her. Now that they were separated by less than three miles of shining sea, he struggled to contain his excitement, knowing that all his ministers were present and he could not afford to show anything but the strictest discipline with relations between the Water Tribe and the Fire Nation still so untested.

And then, there was the thing he had promised to show her.

When Katara’s ship finally docked, he had to tuck his hands into his sleeves to avoid giving away the twitch in his fingers. He waited for her as she made the long procession down the gangplank and along the corridor of royal guards, mesmerising in an outfit of blue silk cut in a Fire Nation style.

“Hi,” she said, when she finally reached him.

“Hi.” Was he blushing? He hoped not, but his face felt hot. “Did you have a good trip?”

“It was good to see Dad again, but I have to admit, I was starting to miss this place,” she replied, with a sidelong smirk. “And that’s not something I would have ever expected to say a few years ago.”

Zuko chuckled, grateful that they could fall into their old rhythm of conversation so easily. “There’s lots to miss about the Fire Nation,” he admitted. “There’s the food, and the beautiful vistas –”

“And the people. I missed them, too.”

Something about the careful, casual way she said it made Zuko’s legs forget how to work. “Err…”

“What’s this surprise you wanted to show me?” she asked. “Why all the secrecy?”

At this, Zuko grinned. “Who says it wasn’t just a clever ruse to get you to come back?”

“Now that’s just sneaky.”

“I try.”

At that moment, a scribe in dark embroidered robes made his appearance, carrying a bamboo tablet and an officious expression to go with it.

Zuko wilted. “I did warn you, didn’t I, that there was going to be a very long ceremony to celebrate your arrival?” he muttered to Katara.

“You might have mentioned it,” she replied giving him a rueful look. “I don’t suppose you can pull rank on everyone and get us out of it?”

“I tried to –”

“Most esteemed and honoured Master Katara!” boomed the scribe, cutting Zuko off mid-sentence. “It is my very great privilege to welcome you to the Fire Nation’s shores once again. In your new, official capacity as the ambassador between our two nations, we hope to once more see the flourishing of friendship between the people of Fire and Water, to lead the world in an example of peace and prosperity.”

\--

The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion, with long, winding speeches and processions through the capital to show Katara off to the people. There was a feast in the great hall of the Fire Palace, which Zuko had made sure contained most of Katara’s favourite dishes from all over the world. While they ate, a troupe of acrobats performed gravity-defying feats of strength to the tinkle of glasses being raised in toasts to the new ambassador.

“It won’t be half this easy tomorrow when we start discussing policy,” she grumbled to Zuko after the third assurance of exclusive trade with the South.

“All the more reason to make a quick escape now, while you can,” Zuko chuckled back.

“What are you talking about?”

“Would you like a break from all of this?”

He offered his hand, palm up, and wiggled his fingers. Glancing back at the rest of the feasters, who didn’t look likely to miss them, she let him haul her to her feet and followed him away from the revelry into a corridor softly lit with paper lanterns. She lost track of the number of corners they passed, though Zuko seemed to know his way well enough. The guards spaced at periodic intervals along the corridor stood to sharper attention as they passed.

Eventually, she felt a draught wash against her face, and with the next corner they came out onto a large landscaped garden, shadowed by the twilight and smelling of evening flowers.

“I’m surprised you haven’t already asked about Druk,” Zuko told her conversationally as he led the way along a white gravelled path towards a low hill flanked by a pair of pine trees.

“There hasn’t exactly been much opportunity to talk,” Katara reminded him. “But now you mention it, I’m surprised he’s not with you. Is he alright?”

Zuko smirked. “See for yourself.”

She paused, puzzled when he whistled, but then with a low, rumbling purr the lump she had taken for a hill uncoiled itself, stretching into a creature fully twenty feet long with a horned, scaled head framed by a ruff of golden whiskers.

“Spirits, is that – is that _Druk_?”

The dragon canted its head at the sound of her voice. Luminous eyes blinked, and she heard a long, dry rustle as it pulled air in through its nostrils to test her scent. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Druk descended on the pair of them in a great scarlet flash of scales, trilling in greeting as he wrapped them up in the sinuous length of his body, affectionate as a baby mouse-lion.

“Wow, you got big,” Katara crooned as he butted his muzzle against her. The last time she had seen him, barely three months ago, he had been smaller than a hippo-cow, and now his head was as long as she was, his teeth grown to the length of her forearm. It shouldn’t have surprised her, given that it had taken him a week to go from the size of a melon to swallowing one in a single gulp, but nothing could have quite prepared her for _this_. He was purring hard enough to make her bones rattle.

“He missed you,” Zuko said. “We both did.”

“Zuko…”

“Would you like to go for a ride?” he asked. “It’s not quite the same as Appa, but I know you miss flying.”

“What, now?”

“Why not? Everyone else is still busy, and the breeze is a perfect way to clear your head.”

Katara bit her lip, uncertain, but Druk only purred harder, his tail lashing in excitement.

“Alright then.”

In moments, Katara found herself sitting astride Druk’s neck, her arms wound into the golden bristles just behind his head and her back pressed against Zuko’s chest, so that she was shielded from the chill of the night air on all sides. Her hair was tied up and tucked into the back of her tunic to keep it from whipping in the wind, so she found it difficult to turn and face Zuko, to tell him she missed him too before the adrenaline wore off and she lost her courage.

The words were on her tongue when Druk’s muscles bunched beneath her and with a surge of power she was thrown back as the dragon shot into the sky. Zuko’s hand fell to her waist to steady her. The ground fell away in terrifying lurches as Druk’s wings cupped the air with massive, leathery beats like sails loosed in a tempest. They were going so fast tears streamed in her eyes and the air tore from her lungs unless she ducked her head down against the slipstream created by the mane of frills around his head.

Riding a dragon was _nothing_ like riding a sky bison. Instead of a smooth, feathery glide, every wingbeat made his body undulate and twist, finding the lightest air currents and powering through until dark sea and lilac sky collided on one huge blur, the wind a cool buffet across the face.

“Are you alright?” Zuko shouted in her ear, once Druk righted himself. “I’m still training him.”

“This is amazing!” Now that she was over the initial shock, she never wanted to land. “How high can he go?”

“I never tried to find out.”

Katara laughed, and Druk, hearing her, let out a gush of flame, roaring, and coiled in on himself into a tight corkscrew spin to show off. Zuko was forced to cling tighter to her, his thighs pressing against hers and her hair, torn free of its confines, whipping back over his shoulder. It was even more exhilarating than the flying, and he was reminded of a story his mother once told him, of a boy who flew on his own wings then fell to his death trying to touch the sun. Surely he was in the moment before the wings fell apart, when everything seemed to be going right and nothing bad could touch you –

And then Katara turned around and kissed him.

The shock nearly stole his grip away, sent him falling into the sea, but she was warm, and smiling, and in an instant he was pulling her closer, kissing her back and wondering why he had never dared to do so before.

He understood, right then, why Icarus tried to fly in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - let me know if you enjoyed it :)


	12. 2017: Modern Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We live in modern times, Zuko. We should move with them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had wondered if I should do some more of the reincarnation AU from last year, but since that wouldn't quite technically count as Zutara, have this drabble instead.

“What. Is. That.”

The monstrosity couched at the base of the Fire Palace steps, a construction of wheels and glass and sharply angled metal, with lamps that followed movement like the beady eyes of a predator about to strike. It slept for the moment, but when it woke, it would belch foul smoke and growl and spit like a demon.

“That, dear, is a Satomobile.” Katara looped her arm through her husband’s a teasing smile lighting her face. “Though I suspect you already knew that. They’re not that rare anymore.”

Zuko scowled. “What is it doing here?”

“It’s ours,” she said. “Where else would it be?” With a gentle nudge, she led him down the steps towards the infernal thing with no more concern than if they were taking a stroll through the gardens.

“We have a dragon,” he pointed out in his most put-upon voice, and gestured to the coiled heap of red scales sunning itself in a far corner of the plaza. “We don’t need a Satomobile. Why did you buy it?”

“We live in modern times, Zuko, we should move with them.” Katara’s grin turned wicked. “Besides, I didn’t buy it, Sokka did. It’s a gift. You wouldn’t turn down a gift, would you?”

It took a moment for Zuko to do anything but stare at her.

“You are very sneaky,” he conceded eventually, delivering a swift peck to her cheek that made her giggle. He could see the whole masterminded plan now – Katara convincing Sokka to buy a Satomobile as a gift just so that he wouldn’t be able to refuse it. She had become a shrewd politician over the years, and knew every loophole in etiquette and how to exploit it.

Never mind that palanquins had always served well enough for getting around the city, and ostrich-horse carriages for anything further afield. Katara herself had only gained an interest in the confounded machines after Izumi had shown her the blueprints. Their twelve-year-old daughter had a flare for engineering that rivalled her uncle’s, and he had always encouraged it. Three steps away from the death box that was the Satomobile, he was beginning to regret being such a supportive parent.

When the driver bowed to them and opened the door to the back seat – a hinged door, of all the nonsense – he planted his feet and refused to budge. After a subtle but firm tug on his sleeve failed to move him, Katara dropped his arm and hiked up her robes to step up and slide gracefully into the Satomobile, passing the driver a warm smile as she did so.

“Oh, it’s quite comfortable, actually!”

The driver looked at Zuko expectantly.

Pursing his lips together, and knowing he would endure no end of teasing later if he didn’t give in, Zuko stepped forward in full Fire Lord mode and folded himself into the Satomobile next to his wife, though with considerably less grace. The inside was roomier than he expected, the upholstery on the seating comfortable but not too soft, and the fastenings on the windows were decked out in a suitable amount of gold for Fire Nation royalty.

“Well?” Katara pressed, in a _we’re not dead yet if you’ll care to notice_ kind of voice.

“Hmph,” he replied, then reached across to give her a playful grab in retaliation for getting him into this mess in the first place. She squeaked in surprise and wiggled more fully into his arms, grinning in a way she rarely allowed herself in public. “I suppose it is rather cosy,” he murmured, leaning down.

She dodged the kiss, just to tease him. “Let’s see how it goes, shall we? Are you ready, Lee?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the driver replied, slipping into his own seat behind the steering wheel.

Despite himself, Zuko pressed himself forward, curious to see how the Satomobile operated. There were rows of complicated buttons and knobs, but as far as he could see, none of them had a clear purpose. He almost missed the slight twist of a key that must have been what Izumi told him was an _ignition_ , but even that didn’t prepare him for the sudden, booming roar as the engine chugged into life.

Katara’s cool fingers twined with his. “Relax, love.”

“You jumped too,” he accused, but gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as the Satomobile pulled away from the steps and out of the palace gates.

During the drive down the road into the city, Zuko’s worries about being suddenly engulfed in fire ebbed. The Satomobile was noisy, and when the wind blew in the wrong direction through the windows foul smoke chuffed from the exhaust, but it was a smoother ride than the palanquin, and there was something to be said for going so fast while still on the ground. The scenery whipped by in a fantastical blur, and if not for the fact that, as the Fire Lord, he had to maintain a certain amount of dignity at all times, he would have laughed at the expression of wonder on Katara’s face. He was grateful she had persuaded him to come, if only because it gave him a peek at the woman he loved in her truest form, who was so often buried under affairs of state.

“Hey,” he whispered as a line of trees parted to reveal the azure block of the ocean beyond the Caldera.

She turned to face him. “What?”

“Nothing, I just wanted your attention.” 

She snorted. “You always have my attention, Zuko, and you know it.”

“So do you,” he replied, brushing his lips across her knuckles.

Travellers on the road stopped and gawked at the unfamiliar spectacle of the Satomobile jogging along the landscaped roadways. Parents pointed the royal couple out to their children, who waved, delighted when the great and beautiful Fire Lady waved back. Zuko remained stoic, as was expected of Fire Nation royalty, but that didn’t stop him sending covert tickles up the inside of his wife’s forearm. She rolled her eyes and batted his hand away, though the threat of her glare was softened by the not-quite-hidden smirk curling at the corner of her mouth. He quirked an eyebrow and made a point to stare out of the window, though their fingers stayed locked together in the space between them.

To be honest, it was good to get out of the palace and see how the people lived their lives. Almost two decades of investment in infrastructure and social projects had polished the jewel that was the Fire Nation Capital until it shone like the finest jade. The port was prosperous, the people healthier now that the wartime factories had been converted to cleaner industries. The country was healing, and so much had changed. Even the casual flirting between himself and Katara would have been unthinkable a generation ago, frowned upon in favour of the neat detachment of his grandparents or the cool dislike that existed between his mother and father.

_Modern times, indeed._

It took them almost an hour to get back to the palace, by which time the seating had lost its comfort and the space in the footwell, though generous, was not enough to ease the cramps in Zuko’s legs. The Satomobile had barely come to a grinding halt before Zuko was clambering out, desperate to stretch his legs.

“So?” Katara asked, alighting after him. “Do I spark an international incident and tell the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe his gift has been rejected?”

“I’m not half so afraid of Sokka as I am of what Izumi will do if she finds out we got rid of that infernal thing,” he grouched, but only for show. “I _suppose_ we can keep it, but I still prefer dragonback.”

“You’d best go and tell that to your dragon,” she replied, nodding towards where Druk sat, partly uncoiled and glaring at the Satomobile with a jealous twitch at the tip of his tail. “Otherwise Izumi really will be mad at you.”

Smirking, he caught hold of her fingers and gave them a quick squeeze. Their days were so busy, he was unlikely to talk to her again before the evening, except from a distance. They had become used to it over the years, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Perhaps there was use for the Satomobile after all.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he said, and turned away, his mind already swimming with possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	13. 2017: Soulmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year after the war, Katara and Zuko meet and find a way to reconnect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The soulmates prompt is kind of implied, but I've written similar things in one of my other Zutara stories...

Yu Dao’s main plaza glittered under moonlight and the paper lanterns that imitated it. Every few heartbeats, the people gathered in the large, open space were gilded by vibrant flashes of colour as fireworks – developed especially from Fire Nation knowledge of gunpowder and Earth Kingdom familiarity with mineral dyes – exploded in bright, dazzling flowers that bloomed and wilted in the same instant. Toph’s metalbending students had constructed hanging sculptures for the occasion, and their abstract forms reflected the shine on the nobles’ jewellery and fine silks, while all around the low buzz of conversation reflected the easy-going nature of the gathering. One year on from the war’s end, and everyone who was anyone wanted to be seen celebrating the peace.

After almost a whole year with little company besides the avatar, however, Katara was finding the press of people a little overwhelming. The food was good, a mixture of cuisines from all over the world, but there were only so many canapes she could stuff into her mouth before it could be considered rude. King Kuei’s rice wine did a better job of relaxing her enough to mingle, but even the warm tingle it sent through her veins grew cold when she turned from a conversation with a handsome young Earth Kingdom noble to find Aang pouting at her over a plate of melon slices carved to resemble flowers.

“Why weren’t you watching me juggle with Bumi?” he asked.

“I thought I saw someone I knew,” she lied. “I wanted to talk to them.”

“You should have waited for me, we could have gone together.” He tried to reach for her hand but she found she needed to adjust one of her hair loopies instead. Truthfully, she had long since grown fed up of standing on the sidelines, watching him pander to his fans.

“I don’t need you to be with me every second, you know,” she told him uneasily. It had felt good to just get lost in the crowd. “And you’re not the only thing I think about.”

A year travelling with him, following while the rest of her friends got on with their lives – it was beginning to wear thin. She had indulged his crush when the world needed him to defeat the Fire Lord, but they had succeeded. That’s what this party was all about, a celebration of the world’s desire and newfound ability to move on, to achieve progress held back by a century of war. True, she had seen some wonderful things since the day Zuko was crowned and they set off pursuing rumours of other airbenders, but she regretted that Aang had mistaken her wanderlust for a desire to be closer to him, as more than friends. Spirits, he was still a _child_ compared to her. Aunt Wu’s prophecy had never said anything about that.

“Katara,” Aang said, “You know you’re my forever girl. Let’s just –”

But the wine had gotten to her temper. “I need to get some air.”

And now she was stood at the edge of the plaza, lurking in the shadows like some would-be assassin, trying to unscramble her thoughts into some semblance of order. Everyone else seemed to have what they wanted – Sokka and Suki were rebuilding; Toph had recognition for her talents as an earthbender, and had even made amends with her parents; Iroh had his teashop. Why couldn’t she have what she wanted?

She huffed. What even did she want?

“Is it bad that I’m happy to find someone else not enjoying themselves?”

“Zuko!”

“Mind if I join you?” he asked. “This particular patch of shadows seems good for getting away from unwanted attention.”

She made room for him against the wall, trying not to stare. Even a year had made a difference to his appearance, filling out his shoulders, adding an inch or two to his height. His face had lost some of its roundness, too, as if the golden crown pinned to his topknot had chiselled it away, and with sudden force she remembered watching him train with Aang on Ember Island, when the sun baked everything so hot they had had to strip off their shirts to stay cool. She wondered if his muscles were still so defined under his layers of silk, or whether a year of politics had softened them away.

The thought made her cheeks burn and she turned away so he couldn’t see, suddenly self-conscious. Aang had said she looked pretty before stepping out tonight, but then, she often got the impression he complimented her because he thought it was what she wanted to hear, rather than because it was his genuine opinion.

She realised neither of them were speaking.

“It’s been a while,” she ventured.

“It has,” he replied.

“How’s Mai?”

“We broke up.”

“Oh.”

“I saw that argument you just had with Aang. How are things between you two?”

“Strained.”

“I see.”

He leaned back against the wall, running so hot she could feel the warmth of his body even across the careful distance that separated them.

“So,” she tried again, “what has you running away from the party?”

Zuko groaned and shot her a wry smirk. “Uncle has decided to play matchmaker on my behalf, and half the Earth Kingdom is indulging him. All that perfume was beginning to give me a headache.”

“You’re definitely safer here, then,” she teased, trying to squash the sudden squirm in her stomach that felt a lot like jealousy.

“Only as long as nobody finds us.” His eyes went wide, his cheeks darkening as a hand anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t think – I hadn’t realised what this might look like.”

It took her a second to catch on. “Oh!”

“Um… if you’d rather I go, I wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea…”

Aang, she realised – he was talking about what Aang would think catching them alone together, as if they weren’t just two old friends getting reacquainted, as if she wasn’t a free person who could do what she liked.

“I don’t care what people might think,” she growled, giving into the impulse to grasp Zuko’s wrist. She was her own self. She could do what she liked. Anything she liked. The certainty of it bubbled into recklessness beneath her skin. “Let’s go somewhere.”

“What?”

“If we throw on a couple of cloaks nobody will know who we are,” she said. “We could go anywhere.”

“Maybe you can,” he replied, though he had yet to pry himself loose of her grip. “I’m the fire lord. I have dignitaries to meet, and foreign policy to talk about, and –”

“A raging horde of earth Kingdom noblewomen eager to get their claws into you,” she teased. “C’mon. We haven’t had a chance to talk for ages. I’ve… missed you.” She was almost too shy to say, to admit it out loud, but she had, sometimes more than she ever thought possible for the man who at one point had been the face of her enemy.

Zuko seemed just as stunned by her confession. His mouth hung open as if to say something, but when the words wouldn’t come he shook his head and sighed.

In what seemed like no time at all, they were ambling down a cobbled street far away from the glamour of the party, wandering without any particular destination in mind. There were few other people out so late at night, so they were free to talk and laugh about anything that took their fancy, without fear of recognition. Katara was amazed by how easily they slipped back into their old rapport, talking about everything from flying lemurs to the consequences of the Fire Nation’s late rainy season as if the past year hadn’t happened. She found it refreshing to air her opinions on politics and the state of the world’s recovery, and she appreciated the thoughtful way Zuko listened to her stories, the quiet giggle they shared when she told him about the adventure with the sandbender chief’s white poodle-pony.

Rounding a corner, they came upon a teahouse lit with green lanterns to show it was still open for business. Zuko pulled his hood lower over his face when the man standing by the door spotted them and waved them over.

“Perhaps you are looking for some entertainment this evening?” he asked jovially, thrusting a leaflet into Katara’s hands. “It’s going to rain later – better to be inside enjoying hot tea and a good show than to be caught out in the wet!”

Katara chuckled despite herself, knowing a little rain was no problem for a master waterbender, and looked down at the square of paper in her hand.

“ _Love in the Time of Badgermoles_ ,” she mused. “What’s it about?”

“It is a timeless tale of love, loss, and revenge,” the seller informed her eagerly. “It’s a well-known Earth Kingdom story. Certain to not disappoint. And the tea’s good,” he added, beaming.

Katara turned to Zuko. “Well?”

He gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “We’ve come this far.”

After paying the seller for their entry, they slipped into the teahouse and found a couple of quiet seats at the back. The place had drawn a good crowd, many of them obviously locals, going by how they laughed and joked with the actors, who were putting the final touches to their elaborate makeup. A young woman bustled over to them to take their order (a pot of jasmine tea for Katara, oolong for Zuko, with a plate of sweet rice balls as a side. In the dim warmth of their corner, they were content to remain silent, enjoying the anonymity and the cosy ambience that let them take advantage of it.

The lights in the teahouse dimmed. The actors packed up their makeup cases and mirrors and took their place on the stage. One, dressed in a robe of white and red trimmed with gold to match her beaded headdress, perched on a stool behind a _guzheng_ and plucked a chord with metal-tipped fingers. Whatever conversation was left in the audience stilled immediately.

“The misty bamboo divides two nations at war,” trilled the actress plucking at the strings. “Oh will this war ever end?”

The play was nothing like Fire Nation theatre, with its acrobatics and flashy special effects, but it had an understated elegance that kept the audience enraptured. The narrator playing the _guzheng_ unfolded the story with a masterful combination of words and music, mesmerising to the point where it was easy to forget the stage was so small there was only room for two actors at a time.

“The girl sits and picks flowers on the mountainside,” the narrator sang. Another actress painted white with a pure pink blush across her cheeks danced an imitation of strolling through a meadow. “And then suddenly…”

Somewhere off-stage, someone banged on a wooden block, and a spotlight rose on an actor in youthful garb who appeared from behind a curtain. The two circled each other, talking, accompanied by wary notes on the _guzheng_ , and Katara found a smile growing on her face.

“What is it?” Zuko asked in her ear.

“The Cave of Two Lovers.”

At his blank look, she explained about the cave they had found while running form Azula, and about the tomb she and Aang had found inside. On the stage, the two lovers parted to opposite sides of the room, looking back wistfully. She remembered the glowing crystals lighting the ceiling and couldn’t help but think of another glowing cave, a lifetime ago now, that might have had such a different outcome. Her head tipped against Zuko’s shoulder, succumbing to the soporific effect of the warm, cosy dark of the teahouse. Her heart fluttered when, instead of pulling away, he leaned in as well and settled his cheek against the top of her head with a sigh.

The play went on. Shu’s father forbade him to go to the mountain to see his lover, and Oma’s sister followed her to try and discover her secret.

“It’s becoming too dangerous for us to see one another,” Oma lamented. “I would run away with you but for the duties to our families.”

When the actors found the badgermoles and ‘built’ the cave, something familiar tugged at Katara’s heart. “And now no one will ever part us,” promised Shu.

Zuko’s hand found hers under the table, and gave a comforting squeeze. The rest of the audience was enraptured and didn’t notice, but Katara felt tears prick her eyes because she knew what came next. She squeezed Zuko’s fingers back.

The final act of the play came to an end with a heart-wrenching monologue from the actress playing Oma as she held the ‘dead’ Shu in her arms. In the play, he had refused to attack her village for fear of hurting anyone she loved, and had instead gone to find her. In a fit of rage, his father killed him just as he caught sight of his love.

“I will find you in the next life, my dearest,” Oma promised, rising to her feet, “and we will be free of this awful shadow of war. And until we meet again, I will end the conflict that has taken you from me.” She raised her arms, letting her long white sleeves trail their full length to the floor, and flicked them out in a show of pretend earthbending, while rattles played off-stage and drums banged to an impressive beat. All the other actors shuffled to the floor in front of the stage and pleaded with her to stop the mountains moving.

“Behold, on that mountain I will build a city,” Oma proclaimed, with a sweeping gesture behind her. “Never again will our two people fight each other.”

The stage lighting snuffed out, but none of the audience started to move, so Katara held in her need to stretch and kept watching. A spotlight rose on the narrator, still plucking her _guzheng_ , and what followed was a lengthy epilogue about the bureaucracy of the new city, and Oma’s long years of good leadership being a model for what kingdoms should be.

When it was over, Katara clapped along with the rest of the audience, turning only to find that Zuko had been dozing, and that her movement jolted him awake. She felt her breath catch on the little grunt he made as he shifted into a better seating position, even though he untangled their fingers so he could rub the sleep out of his golden eyes.

“All those Earth Kingdom girls really got to you, huh?” she teased.

“Ugh, don’t,” he groaned, stifling a yawn. “Just thinking of all the apologies I’m going to have to make tomorrow…”

“Was this a mistake?” she asked, her heart clenching. “I should have thought – it was wrong of me to ask you to come.”

“Hey, no.” He laid his hand on her shoulder. It burned through the fabric of her clothes. “I enjoyed this, and I enjoyed the company more, so don’t be sorry. I’m glad you persuaded me to come.”

“I enjoyed it, too,” she replied.

The sound of a cleared throat startled them. The same waitress who had brought them their tea was standing by the door, politely impatient, a sweeping brush in one hand. All the other patrons had already filed out, and the other servers were starting to clean the room. With bashful smiles, Katara and Zuko stood up and gathered their things, though she noticed a dull clink of gold and the outrageous tip he left in the teapot before he followed her out.

It had started to rain.

“It’s a good thing I have you with me,” he joked, taking her arm in a courtly sort of way while she bent the water away from their heads. “Shall we get back to the party?”

“I suppose we should.”

Sokka would be wondering where she was. Aang would be, too. It was ironic, really, that the peace celebration had kept her so on edge, and that leaving it had the opposite effect. As they began to walk away, she chanced one last look at the teahouse, its lanterns now extinguished, its windows dark, and frowned. For a few hours, she had been free of all doubt, free to be herself, and in that time she had felt the most at peace she had since being a very small child. Now though, all the insidious voices in her head came crowding back. Why couldn’t she have what she wanted? Perhaps the better question, she thought as she glanced at Zuko, was why it was so difficult to ask for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one day left!


	14. 2017: Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko can't sleep. When he goes for a walk to clear his head, it turns out someone else can't either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the final day of Zutara Week 2017. The response from you guys has been amazing - thank you for all the comments and kudos!
> 
> Note: this chapter contains references to 2016: Lilac

It feels strange to have the Ember Island house full of people again. despite the ruined courtyard and dilapidated buildings, there’s a liveliness about the place that make the shadows seem slightly less deep. It leads Zuko’s mind along memories of when he was small, when he had Lu Ten to look up to and Azula didn’t actively wish him dead. Before his mother had left.

It means he can’t sleep. He’s chosen his old room, with its familiar furniture and its familiar view – the Fire Lord’s rooms have been kept sealed shut, because the signs of when his family was happy are things that make his scar itch.

He’s not unused to sleep eluding him. For the first weeks on board his ship, the slow rocking of the ocean and the constant drill of the engines in his ears taunted him, reminding him of everything he had lost, until Uncle exhausted all his meditations and archaic techniques and special blends of tea and Zuko was left staring at the pipe that ran perpendicular to his bed for hours at a time, feeling boxed in with nothing to occupy him but bitter thoughts of how he would capture the avatar.

It didn’t help him in the end.

He sits up now, lets the cotton sheets pool in his lap as he stretches. The night outside his window is cloudless, the moon waning in a field of stars too numerous to count, with the sea beneath crisp in its constant, rolling murmur, calling him.

He gives up; sleep isn’t going to come to him tonight, not in this airless, stuffy room he outgrew years ago.

Foregoing shoes and the sash that in the day tied his shirt closed, he stalks down the hallway. He left the mask to the depths of Lake Laogai, but the habits of the Blue Spirit are hard to shake. His familiarity of the house’s layout means he doesn’t have to think about where he’s going, and all it takes is a quiet dart through the door to the kitchen and he’s out on the veranda that girds the perimeter of the house.

The starlight is beautiful, the night just stirring with a breeze so that the dewy fronds of the fire lilies that line the path to the beach sway, as if parting before him. Soft moss turns to sand under his bare feet, still pleasantly warm after the heat of the day, and the night air is filled with clean salt and the trilling calls of the glowfrogs that live in the undergrowth. The tide is out, he realises when he arrives on the lip of the beach. The sand stretches away before him, bleached white by the moonlight, with pearlescent scraps of shell reflecting here and there so that the long, pale carpet almost looks to be a mirror of the dark expanse above.

He spends a long time looking, feeling the ruffle of night wind in his hair, only for his eyes to catch on a dark shape at the edge of the waves. It doesn’t move, or grow, or change in any way that Zuko can see as he creeps towards it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a danger to them. And then he notices, like foreshadowings of his own footsteps drawing him on, a set of prints leading from the house to the figure at the edge of the water, and like that he comes out of his stance, breathing relief but with a new worry now. He knows who it is.

Worry wars with the desire not to intrude on Katara’s peace. Even without their rocky history, there’s something about the night-time that’s sacred, that shouldn’t be disturbed, and besides, he already knows what her eyes look like in starlight. It’s been months since they ran through the streets of Ba Sing Se together, the Blue Spirit and his shadow, only she doesn’t know it was him. He should tell her, and he wants to, but even though she’s forgiven him now for his transgressions, they almost kissed on that final night beneath the lilacs, and he knew then as he knows now she wouldn’t want to kiss him if she knew who was really under the mask.

And he still wants to kiss her. He can admit that in the moonlight, at least to himself, with the war far away.

“Zuko.”

She heard him coming, somehow knew it was him without even looking. His heart stutters. Should he go?

“What are you doing?” She turns to him, her blue eyes turned silver by the dim light. They compel him to truth.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says. “I didn’t expect to find anyone out here.” A pause. “Can I sit?”

“Isn’t this your beach?” There’s no malice in her words, only a quiet humour he doesn’t think the rest of them understand, and he takes it as an invitation.

“Well, technically, it is,” he says, and measures the distance before he eases down next to her. “But then, technically, so is most of this island, and everything about a mile out that way.” He nods out beyond the reef, resting his elbows on his knees.

“You can’t own the ocean,” she replies, sharper than she maybe intended.

“No, I suppose not.”

She hugs her arms around her knees again, resting her chin on top, and sighs.

“Can I ask what’s wrong?” he ventures. Every time he sees her sad, something tugs at him, each time harder than the last, and it’s worse to know that up until now, it’s always been his fault.

“The war will be over soon,” she says.

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Of course it is, but I don’t know what it’ll mean.” She tucks her hair behind one ear. “All I’ve ever known is war, I know what it expects of me, but peace? I get the feeling that’s going to be harder, and I’m not sure any of the others see that.”

Zuko nudges a battered limpet shell with his toe. “Aang thinks defeating my father will solve everything,” he agrees. His scar stings with phantom pain. “Sokka too, maybe, though Suki keeps him level-headed.”

A weak chuckle at that. “And you?”

“None of it will matter unless we beat him. There won’t be a peace otherwise. After that?” He sighs. “We’ll have to do the best we can, but we’ll have a chance.”

He can feel her watching him, but water is patient, and he’s learned enough to know she’ll tell him what she wants, if he has a right to hear it.

“It must be hard for you,” she muses, those starlit eyes of hers boring deep. “He’s your father, after all.”

They’ve always found honesty in the dark, in the soft glow of stars and moons and crystals, and now they share a trust that was never there before. Zuko turns to face the ocean so all she can see is the ruined left side of his face.

“He’s the one who did this to me.”

From Katara, there is no pity, only grief for his pain and outrage that such a thing could happen. Her hand reaches out to him – he catches the movement out of the corner of his bad eye – but the gesture falters before it really begins. He remembers the last time she touched his scar, a deep emerald gleam behind his eyelids as he imagined for the sharpest second what it would be like to find his hands at her waist again, to pull her close, feel her lips against his with the smell of lilacs in his nose. It’s a bitter memory for everything he lost that day, and he clenches his fist on the sand until the coarseness of it bites at his skin.

Cool fingers slide over his knuckles, his eyes widen as he feels the weight of her head sink onto his shoulder. Her hair tickles against his jaw.

“He needs to be stopped,” she murmurs.

He never dared hope for even this much. There will be another time for his secrets, after the war when whatever is about to happen happens, but for now he takes what she offers and wraps his fingers through hers.

“He will be,” he reassures her.

They sit together, finding comfort in closeness, lost in silence and starlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the end of Zutara Week. Thanks again for all the love you've given this fic!  
> See you next year?


	15. 2018: First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara and Zuko discuss their first kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeeeeyyyy!!! So another year, another Zutara Week, another seven days of prompts! Things are going to be a bit different this year because I'm a bit busier, so the oneshots will be more like drabbles, but still in the same continuity, so there will be references to previous chapters.
> 
> For this one, I kinda shot myself in the foot because they've already had their first kiss (2017: Icarus), so call this the first of many more ;)

“Zuko, you’re not listening.”

“Huh?”

They were walking through the gardens of the palace, taking the opportunity to enjoy the cooler air before the sun climbed higher and baked away whatever moisture was left in the ground. As Fire Lord and Water Tribe ambassador, they had set out talking about the delegation from the Earth Kingdom that would be arriving in a few days; conversation had flowed from how to greet them to where to house them to what dishes Omashu gentry would like served at the welcoming banquet, but then they rounded a corner and all thoughts of official duties had flown right out of Zuko's head.

“Is something wrong?” Katara asked. She had so far taken her new role as ambassador very seriously. “If you’re not feeling well we could always go back inside.”

He shook his head. “It's not that. It's just...” His gaze slid over to the ornamental lawn on the south side of the garden, where Druk had left large gouges in the earth with his claws. “That was where we kissed...” And they hadn’t talked about it – hadn’t had chance, really. As soon as Druk landed, a swarm of servants had buzzed over the grass to chide him for putting the Water Tribe's only ambassador in danger and almost causing a diplomatic incident.

When he looked over, he was dismayed to find Katara giving him a distinctly unimpressed look.

“Actually,” she told him in a voice light with amusement, “I think you’ll find our first kiss was somewhere _up there_.” She pointed to the sky. “I can’t be sure, though – it was a bit of a blur.”

He opened his mouth to argue, distracted by the smirk fighting at the corner of her mouth, when her words suddenly clicked into place. _First kiss._

“Do you mean to say you think there'll be more?” he asked.

She stepped closer, having lost the battle with her smile and the blush rapidly painting her cheeks a dusky pink. Her lips pursed, trying to choose words that couldn’t quite make it off her tongue.

“Because if you are...” He reached forward and brushed his fingers against hers. His fire surged through his veins in a steady, heavy pulse. “I’d like that.”

Her eyes were on their linked hands, palm to palm, as she answered. “How do you feel about dinner? And... maybe a first _second_ kiss?”

 


	16. 2018: Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara and Zuko reflect on a life well-lived

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some older Zutara for Day Two

The servant discovered the letters in a dusty corner while clearing out the royal possessions from the princess's old bedchamber. It was more accurate to say the box containing the letters had been discovered, and handed over to the Fire Lady, whose necklace matched the mother-of-pearl inlay on the lid. Katara studied it now, running her fingers over the intricate patterns that were at once decoration and mechanism for the lock, and when she remembered the trick to it, she pressed down on a button that formed a dragon's eye. The box lid opened with a light _click_.

It was how Zuko found her hours later, absorbed enough that she had missed their scheduled afternoon tea.

“What is all this?” he asked, once he finally dragged his eyes away from the image of his wife at the window, in flowing purple silk with the late sunshine making a golden halo out of the silver creeping into her hair.

“Hm? Oh – our date! I guess I got distracted.” She sighed. “Sai found all our old letters. I'd forgotten...”

A wistful smile touched her lips as she held out a stack of papers that curled and browned at the edges. Curious, he took a seat next to her by the window, the creak of his knees a match to the laugh lines at the corners of Katara's eyes. When had they gotten so old?

“Let me see.”

There was no order to the reams of paper. Official memos nestled next to hasty sketches of scenery and Izumi's first scribbles, short notes passed in council meetings folded between long pages where politics had kept them apart for weeks at a time.

“I can’t believe we wrote some of these,” Zuko stuttered as he uncovered one that turned his ears red.

Katara snatched it before he could move it out of her reach, and giggled. “I remember this one. It got me through some really dreary peace talks with the Northern Tribe – it was never a patch on the real thing, though.” Smiling, she looked out over the garden, with its fire lilies and the turtleduck pond that was a smooth blue mirror of the sky.

“There’s a whole lifetime of memories here,” he agreed, to the words she hadn’t spoken. HE linked their hands, leathery now with years of wielding their elements. Together, they had rebuilt a country with these hands, raised a family, exchanged countless gestures of love and trust never broken.

“Has it been a good lifetime?” she asked into the silence.

“I wouldn’t have changed a thing.”


	17. 2018: Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A part 1 of 2 for Day Three

Seeing the Southern Water Tribe all together in one place was a rare thing these days. There were so few of her people left, so few not left out of the fighting... Katara didn’t think she'd even _seen_ this many people before. As the chief's daughter and a young woman past her first bleeding, she was expected to entertain the other unmarried girls not yet of age, while Gran-Gran and the other adults prepared the wedding feast, but considering all the other girls were at least three years older than her, she felt like a polar bear-dog trying to catch snow mongoose, chasing conversations that were too quick for her to understand.

They sat as a group in an ice hut out of sight of the men, sat around a stove heated by a glowing coal fire. A thick, sweet scent weighted the air, a traditional tea made from the berries of a plant that only grew on the scrubby inland slopes. When it was ready, Katara took the pot off the fire and held it in thick mittens as she poured out the cloying pink liquid into horn cups, one for each of her guests. Gran-Gran had given her strict orders not to use her bending.

“Look at that,” said Nila, who was the eldest at fifteen and came from a village further west, “I daresay your future husband won’t have any complaints at all.”

Katara didn’t know what to say to that, so she ignored the jibe and offered the tea instead.

Someone else – Lani – sighed. “With the way the war is going, there won’t be anyone left to marry at all.”

“Maybe not in the Water Tribe,” chimed in one of the others. “We should hold out hope that a ship full of earthbenders will dock in the bay.”

“Ooh, yes! All those strong muscles – I could get behind an earthbender, or in front of one...”

Everyone laughed, except Katara, who tried to hide her mortification behind the rim of her cup.

“What if the airbenders came back? I hear they were renowned for being _flexible_.”

“And also for being monks, Kiriki – you wouldn’t get very far.”

The girls tittered and offered their own suggestions, and the image of the ideal husband built up until Nila cleared her throat and turned to the only person in the close space who had yet to raise an opinion.

“What about you, Katara?” she asked. “Who will your true love be?”

* * *

 

She smiled over the rim of her teacup. More than ten years had passed since that day, the memories brought all the more vividly to life by the taste of the traditional berry tea, though this time she sipped from porcelain rather than bone. The destruction wreaked by their earlier battle with the Talons smouldered around her, her dress was ripped and smudged with soot, but Zuko’s warmth rested by her side, his thigh a solid touch to reassure them both after the fighting that they still breathed. She turned just in time to catch his laughter, the stray slip of hair falling to frame his face in casual imperfection, and her heart constricted.

She would never have thought to find the answer to Nila’s question among the trappings of Fire Nation royalty.

 


	18. 2018: Turtleduck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 for Day Four

His mother found him by the pond, sulking. The story pieced together from various sources told her some of the older boys had been ‘educating’ him about protocol, about the politics that surrounded the matches made within the Fire Nation’s nobility, and about how the grand old fairytales about love and sweeping romance were just that – nothing more than lines of ink and the smell of old paper. The garden had always been a safe place, somewhere for the royal family to have privacy from uninvited guests, and the cultivated wilderness around the turtleduck pond offered shelter from any prying eyes.

“Zuko –”

“I don’t want to be betrothed.” He didn’t turn towards her, only drew his knees in closer to his chest and hugged them tight.

For a moment, Ursa puzzled out how to respond. She knelt by his side, fussing with the lay of her skirts around her so the silk wouldn’t crease. The wind blew through the tall rushes, rattling a sigh from the dry stalks that mirrored the sound of the sea.

“Why not?” she asked eventually as she looked out over the water.

“Because then I’ll have to get married to someone I don’t like.”

She turned at that, frowning. “What makes you say that?”

“Nobody likes people they’re betrothed to,” he huffed. “Mai’s parents always argue, and Ty Lee’s mother left, and you –” Here he bit his lip, flushing, and turned away again.

With a sigh, Ursa shifted closer and placed her hands on her son’s arms. “It can be difficult,” she told him gently. “But it isn’t a given, and you have so much to give. What sort of person would you want to marry, if you had the choice?”

“I wouldn’t get married at all!” Zuko declared, although he sank back into himself a moment later. The courtiers who were teasing him had mentioned _royal obligations_. “She would have to be nice,” he allowed. “Not mean like Azula. If she was a bender we could practice together, but only if she wasn’t a bad winner – and she would have to like turtleducks.”

His mother hugged him close. “She sounds like she’ll be wonderful.”

* * *

 

It was strange, the way the memory rose to the surface of his mind as the wind busied through the reeds and rippled over the water. The same sounds, the same bright, sparking sunlight, the same sweet fragrance of the water lilies bobbing on the surface of the water. Only the woman sat at his side was different.

Katara sat with her legs folded beneath her, a small smile on her face as she scattered cold peas for the turtleducks gathered on the near shore. He let his eyes roam over her form, the royal silks and the gold-and-jade ornaments at her neck that set of the dusky shade of her skin – and above everything, his eyes were drawn to the curling flame pinned into her hair, that she had worn for barely a week but which seemed made for her. The crown of the Fire Lady.

“What are you looking at?” she asked him, noticing his regard.

“Nothing much,” answering her smirk by leaning close and brushing his fingers along her cheek. “I’m just very happy I married you.”

 


	19. 2018: Crystals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko is being secretive, but there's a good reason

“Zuko, this is ridiculous.”

“Katara, I just need a few more days.” A pause. “Maybe a bit more than that, but I swear when I’m done I’ll tell you everything.”

“This is _crazy_. You went to Ba Sing Se – leaving _me_ in charge of a gaggle of prattling old generals who hate me, by the way, which wasn’t exactly fun – and now you’re back you’ve been holed up in that workshop since you stepped off the ship, and you won’t tell me _why_. What’s going on?”

There was silence from the other side of the door, and the tone of it told Katara the concern in her voice had made an impression. By all official reports, the Fire lord’s first official trip to the once-conquered Ba Sing Se had gone well. While spoiled, the young teenaged cousin who had taken the place of the abdicating King Kuei had been welcoming and reasonable, and already the trade agreements made for the towns on the western shores of the Earth Kingdom held promising opportunities.

But then there was this new secretiveness, and Katara didn’t know whether she was more angry or worried that Zuko was shutting her out. As the ambassador to the Southern Water Tribe, she had a right to know what was happening, but more personally than that, they had been together for years now, shared everything, talked, loved, wove in and out of each other’s daily lives with a level of comfort she never could have understood before she met him.

“I can’t tell you,” Zuko finally mumbled. “Not yet. I know I’m worrying you, but I want to get this right before…” He cleared his throat. “Please, trust me?”

She sighed. “I do trust you. Just… don’t hide away in there forever, alright? If I end up missing you too much I might have to barge in there and haul you out.”

The joke was forced, but he laughed anyway. “I love you. It’ll be just a few more days, I promise.”

He turned away from the door when her footsteps finally retreated down the hall, and let loose a groan that dragged through his entire frame. His neck ached and his fingers, until that point protected by his firebending calluses, were starting to bleed. The room glowed a dim green beyond the light of the lamps, casting a sickly pallor over his skin as he staggered back to his place at the workbench, past all the lumps of crystal that marked his failed attempts.

 _I never did know when to give up_.

What had begun as a romantic fantasy hatched in a passing conversation with Sokka had since taken root, and now it was a matter of pride not to be beaten by a bunch of dumb rocks. He was already improving – his latest carving at least resembled what he had meant it to – but he wanted the gift to be presentable before he gave it to her. She deserved nothing less, and he wanted to honour her traditions, as well as the ones they had built together.

The memories of his actions in the crystal catacombs beneath Ba Sing Se still shamed him, but as he took his seat at the workbench once more and pulled the latest attempt at a betrothal pendant towards him, he was determined to make it mean something.


	20. 2018: Bloodbending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the hunt for Yon Rha, Zuko and Katara talk about destruction.

The rocky spit they rested on was little more than a basalt finger sticking up out of the ocean, found by chance when neither of them had the energy to carry on. They huddled around their small fire, their backs protected from the wind by Appa’s snoring bulk, silent except for the occasional rustle of the map as Zuko checked their position against the stars.

“Go on, say it,” Katara finally snarled. She hadn’t spoken for hours, not since they had left the admiral of the Southern Raider ship iced to his own helm, and her voice was scratchy from disuse.

“What?” Zuko asked.

She glared at him. “Whatever it is you’re dying to say.”

He returned the look cautiously, but didn’t turn away in shame or horror, like she would have expected from Aang, or even Sokka. “I didn’t know a technique like that was possible,” he said eventually. “Where did you learn it?”

“From someone who let hatred consume her,” she replied bitterly. “I shouldn’t have done it.” She might have actually killed that man, let her anger take over and popped the wrong blood vessel.

“I assume you manipulate the water in the blood the same way Toph does with metal?”

“This isn’t some academic discussion, Zuko,” she snapped. “I nearly lost control and killed someone who – well, he wasn’t innocent but he wasn’t the one we were after. Do you have any idea what it’s like to have something inside of you that’s so destructive?”

He snapped his fingers and a lick of flame appeared in his palm. “I thought you knew I did.”

She scowled and turned away, pulling her hair over her shoulder to act as a distraction, a barrier between them. The silence, tense before, now took on an acidic edge, eating at the comfort that should have come from a long rest after a weary day. Her mind whirled with the bad taste it left in her mouth, both Zuko’s apparent lack of judgement and the feel of the admiral’s blood at her command – the fact that she enjoyed the power it gave her, even as the wrongness of it crawled across her skin.

“How do you deal with knowing you could hurt people if you wanted?” she asked when the thought would no longer be contained. Her voice came out smaller than she would have liked.

He tilted his head, considering the answer. “I guess for a long time I didn’t. I was so angry, about everything, and with the way it fuelled my bending it just made things worse. I used to think all I could do was hurt people – it was all I’d ever seen firebenders do.” He summoned another flame and then extinguished it in his fist. “I guess bloodbending is what you choose to make of it. It’s part of you, so you can either pretend it doesn’t exist or accept it, and learn how to use it properly, so it doesn’t control you, but it’s not something that’s evil by itself.”

Katara bit her tongue on her reply. Accepting wisdom from a member of the Fire Nation’s royal family grated on past habits, the cold, dark part of her that clung to the idea that all firebenders had to be evil because of the destructive powers of their element, but she had travelled far from the scared little girl who left her village behind at the South Pole. She had seen evil in many places, in the complacency and greed of officials, in Jet’s undirected revenge and Long Feng’s fanatic desire for order at all costs, and every time, those people took what they had and twisted it to suit their own ends. Zuko, by contrast, had rescued her father, and had offered himself as bait for Azula while they escaped. And he _knew_. More than any of the others – even Aang who carried the raw strength of the avatar spirit inside him – Zuko knew what it was like to hold the power of life and death at his fingertips just by the very nature of what he was.

“We should get some sleep,” she bit into the silence, and rolled over away from him.


	21. 2018: Element Swap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They who take wisdom from more than element will become more balanced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of another Zutara Week! (and i'm a little late posting this but it's still Zutara Week somewhere in the world)
> 
> This one is a bit of a twist on the theme, because I didn't know how to fit actual element swapping into their life story, so have some mutual learning and a flustered Katara instead. See you next year!

Aang noticed Katara had stopped her pattern an instant before he spotted her scowl – and only one thing could make her scowl like that. He followed the direction of her gaze to see Zuko standing awkwardly at the edge of the training area they had cleared on the sunward plaza of the Western Air Temple, one hand rubbing the back of his neck and his head hanging low so his hair could hide the expression on his face.

“Is there a reason you’re lurking over there?” Katara demanded.

“I –”

“Have you come to train with us?” Aang interrupted brightly. “I’m sure Katara wouldn’t mind if you joined in, _would you Katara_?” He offered her a pointed if polite smile, but both she and the exiled prince ignored him.

“I recognise that movement from the North Pole,” Zuko mumbled. “You pushed a column of ice up and –”

“When we rescued Aang out of your clutches and then you tried to take him back and threatened me, a waterbender at the North Pole. While on top of a glacier. In a blizzard.” She smirked. “It wasn’t one of your better plans. What about it?”

“It’s effective. I, uh, used it on my sister once and it really surprised her.”

Whatever retort Katara had lined up, it disappeared. “What? That’s a _waterbending_ move. You can’t have used it.”

“I did.”

She crossed her arms. “Show me.”

Somewhat sheepish, he stepped forward into the sunlight and took a deep breath, before holding out his arms. He raised his hands, drawing up a column of fire in their wake, then pushed out and sent a punch of flame sparking over the edge of the cliff. When it dissipated, he came out of the stance and turned to her, waiting for her opinion. Katara was sucking in her bottom lip, brows drawn down over her eyes as if she’d bitten into something sour.

“Try it like this,” she said after a few more seconds of some internal battle. “Keep your shoulders back.” She repeated the movement, drawing water from the fountain nearby to better show the flow of the element. When she spotted the stunned look on Zuko’s face, she huffed. “If you’re going to steal my culture, you might as well do it properly.”

They practiced for hours, until the sun had completely disappeared around the rim of the canyon and left the training area in cool shadow. Aang went to sit on the lip of the fountain to watch, pleased that the open hostility between two of his friends had twisted into something more productive, but boredom soon set in and they didn’t notice him leave. Soon, Katara wasn’t the only one teaching. In the excitement of learning something new, of stretching herself and her abilities, she found herself asking for firebending techniques, taking the breath and the grounded stance and using it to feel the power flow up from her root, through her body and out through her fingers.

The sky was stained orange by the time they flopped, exhausted, against one of the pillars that held up the roof. Leaning her head back against the stone, eyes closed, Katara let her mind wander.

“Thank you for today,” Zuko rasped next to her.

She rolled her neck to the side to look at him properly, but couldn’t muster the energy for a glare. “I’m surprised y– someone from the Fire Nation would bother learning techniques from the other nations. When we were travelling around before the eclipse it was pretty clear that you all look down on people from the rest of the world.”

He frowned, but the expression was thoughtful rather than angry. “Uncle says it’s wise to draw wisdom from lots of places, otherwise a person becomes unbalanced.” His frown deepened, his eyes glazing over as his mind drifted to somewhere wistful, a moment of vulnerability she wasn’t prepared for.

“That’s… that’s good advice,” she answered. “But I don’t quite think I’m ready to swap elements with you just yet.”

“Mmm – being a waterbender suits you better.”

He didn’t notice the heat that flushed her cheeks at the casual admission, or the way her eyes widened. She huffed again and stood, stretching out the ache in her muscles, her gaze fixed far out into the evening mist so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

“I should go see what Sokka’s up to. Thanks… for training with me.” And she left, with a squirm in her stomach and a growl at the back of her throat because, enemy or friend, nobody hat the power to make her feel quite as unsettled as Zuko did.

**Author's Note:**

> The name 'Druk' in the Avatar universe is actually based on the thunder dragon from Bhutanese mythology, which features on the country's flag. I borrowed and tweaked a bit to let Katara have her own stories, and because 'Druk' sounds more like a Water Tribe name than a Fire Nation one, and that was an idea I wanted to explore.
> 
> 'While it is always best to believe in oneself, a little help from others can be a great blessing.' - Uncle Iroh. Comments are appreciated!


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